


Dream Brother I thru III (2/7)

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-15
Updated: 2001-04-15
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 55,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: Sent to investigate mysterious hauntings in the painted wilds of Utah, the X-files team stumbles upon more than they bargained for, including the indomitable Alex Krycek.





	Dream Brother I thru III (2/7)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

 

Dream Brother by Tabby

Mulder lay in his cot staring at the tent window. How many hours had it been since they gave him that shot? One? Three? Eighty-five? It occurred to him to look at his watch but it seemed like too much of an effort.

The stuff they'd given him had really knocked him on his ass. He struggled to raise himself. There, he was at least sitting up now. His mind was full of cobwebs; he couldn't think clearly. Why was he in this condition, anyway? Oh yeah, theTalisman. And stuff.

He sat rubbing his chin thoughtfully. Boy, he needed a shave. Probably a shower, too. Maybe he'd better -- aw, fuck it. He got very slowly to his feet and had a look outside the tent. It was evening and people were bustling about. Was it dinnertime? Not that he was hungry. He became aware that he was standing outside the tent in his boxers, so he went back inside and dressed.

Dana Scully popped her head in to look at him. "Hi," she said perkily.

"Hi, your ass," was his surly response.

She just smiled. "Just thought I'd come by to see how you were doing. Looks like you're up and doing well."

"Don't worry about me. Just go back to your bastard lover, you whore."

"Mulder. I don't appreciate those words, and I'm really surprised at you."

"For what? Being honest? Speaking my truth, and all that?" He smiled at her grimly. "You betrayed me, Scully. You betrayed me by trying to kill Krycek. You betrayed me by siding with White. You betrayed me by pumping medicine into me that I didn't want or need."

She stood and looked at him, stricken. "Mulder," she said, "You don't understand. I had to do those things, all of them. All this is for your own good! Mulder, you don't get it. I love you like a brother! There's hardly anyone on Earth I care about so much! Mulder, you're sick and you need help."

He sat back down on the bed. "No, YOU don't understand! I need you to get this, Scully: I am not sick! I had the most intense spiritual experience anyone can hope to have! And it was real! Scully, you know there is a way to gather intelligence about the aliens -- get it! You'll find that they are really, truly gone. Forever."

"And the big Indian made them all go away, Mulder?"

He looked down. "You've just got to believe me!"

She cleared her throat. "What I do believe is that you've got a form of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, brought about by being abducted by Alex Krycek."

He leapt to his feet, his hands clenched. "Don't you ever suggest that Alex abducted me!" he said between clenched teeth. "I went of my own free will!"

She shook her head, sadly. "I'm sorry, Mulder, but you're sounding like a kidnap victim. Many people held hostage..."

"No! No!" He yelled. "I wasn't kidnapped and I wasn't held hostage!" he looked around wildly for something to throw. He found a pillow and knelt, weeping ragged sobs into it. "I love Alex! I love him! Can't you understand?"

She touched his shoulder, gently. "I think that the Haldol has worn off. I should give you another shot! Stay right there!" She ran off towards the medical tent. 

After she'd left, Mulder quickly got to his feet, rummaged frantically in drawers, threw some things in a backpack and took off for the edge of camp where the horses were tied up. There they stood, swishing flies, looking placid. Nearby was their tack, in a box; he quickly threw on Socks' gear, and mounted. 

He cantered around the eastern edge of camp and on towards the mountains. He hoped that anyone seeing him would conclude that it was "just Mulder, out for a pleasure ride." At night. But he was right; no one came after him for a while. He rode until he felt thirsty and Socks was panting, his sides heaving and sweaty. Well, good. All he had was a flat diet Coke. He cupped his hands for Socks to drink, and poured the Coke into them. The poor horse slurped it up and looked around for more.

"Sorry, no more, boy," he said absently. It occurred to Mulder's less-than-typically sharp brain that this, perhaps, was not the best idea he'd had. He wanted to get back to Alex, and he wanted to get away from the Scully/White Nazi alliance, but this wouldn't work. Slowly, he mounted Socks and turned him back to the camp.

He was met on the way by a posse of Jeeps, headed by the White/Scully faction, of course. The agents jumped out of their vehicles, and stood, guns drawn. White and Scully approached Mulder. 

"Hey there, my two favorite people!" he said amiably.

"Hands in the air, Mulder." said White quietly. He patted him down for weapons, relieving him of his Sig. "Hey, bet you do that to all the guys," Mulder said. 

"Mulder, do you have any other weapons that I don't know about?" Asked White.

"Hey, am I being arrested here for something or what?" Mulder asked irritably.

"No, Mulder," said White, cuffing his hands behind his back. "This is for safety's sake only."

Mulder snorted. "Safety's sake? For yours or for mine?"

"Both," said White, and helped him into the back of the Jeep. Scully looked in at him anxiously. "Are you OK, Mulder?"

"I'm fine, but that valuable horse over there will die out here in the desert if you don't get him back soon."

"Oh..yeah. Hey, Peterson, rope that horse to your jeep and drive your vehicle extremely slowly back to camp."

"OK, Boss...er, Agent Scully."

She climbed into the jeep and conferred with White in low tones, glancing back at Mulder from time to time. He nodded, got out of the car and knelt by Mulder. "Ah," said Mulder, "Could this be the start of something good?"

White ignored Mulder. Dug under the back seat and recovered a pair of leg shackles. "OH NO!" Said Mulder. "NO WAY! OH, NO YOU DON'T," he shouted.

"Hey, we need help over here!" White called, and three other agents came running up. They were able eventually to restrain the kicking, screaming Mulder, but not before one had been kicked in the face and another, in the groin. Scully jumped out to stand near Mulder. "Mulder. This is only necessary because you are a high escape risk. Please don't struggle so much! I don't want you to hurt yourself. Here," and he felt a prick of something in his arm. "I DON'T WANT THAT DRUG!" he screamed, but in a minute became quieter. White locked the shackles on his legs and climbed back into the driver's seat.

"I don't like this business at all," he remarked, driving back toward the camp. "He's a damned good agent and a fine human being and I hate to see him reduced to this."

Scully nodded but said nothing.

"He's also," came the thick voice from the back seat, "gonna tear you and your whore a new one."

Scully shook her head, declining comment. She looked at White and he squeezed her arm.

"Murderers...treasonists, betrayers! My Alex is dead because of you! I'll only get to see him when I die. My Alex.." He began to cry.

"I can't...I can't wipe my nose, Scully!" he said bitterly. No talk of whores, now.

Scully reached behind her with a tissue, mopping the beloved face with great compassion.

They got back to the camp and Mulder was helped out of the jeep and into a waiting ambulance. "But I'm not sick!" he said, "I'm not sick! The Indian appeared to me and the aliens went away!" The paramedics glanced at one another, carefully removing the handcuffs and shackles and placing him on a gurney, where he was restrained with buckled straps. His protests could be heard inside the ambulance. "I'm not crazy! I'm not crazy! Let me go! You bastards, let me go!"

The ambulance rolled down the hill, its tires crunching on the gravel road.

Scully stood shaking her head. White turned to her and found her crying: silent tears were running down her face. "Oh, Dana, don't cry!" he said, holding her to him. "Let me kiss your tears away," he said, kissing her gently on the cheek. At this the floodgates burst loose and she began sobbing wildly, shaking and grabbing onto his jacket for purchase. "I--did--ev-every--thing--wrong," she gasped, hiccuping, eyes and nose running. "I-- blew it. I --fucked--up. It's -- all-- my -- fault."

"Now how is it your fault, Dana? Here, come with me to my tent and sit down. I'll fix you a cup of tea."

She buried her face in his shirt. "Can't -- let-- any-- one -- see me like -- this," she sobbed.

"Oh, why not? It happens to everyone!" He led her through his tent door and sat her down on the camp chair, busying himself fixing a pot of tea.

She continued to gasp and hiccup. "It --doesn't-- hap-pen-- to -- Dana --Scully," she sobbed.

He laughed. "Oh, sure it does, even to my tough, fiery, feisty, flinty little Dana Scully," he said, coming to sit near her.

She hid her face in her hands. "I--I'm --so--ugly--when I cry." He chuckled. "We all are, Dana. Would you stop carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders? You may have had to do that with Mulder, but not with me! Dana, I will always be here to help you."

She looked up. "When did you decide to hospitalize Mulder?" her voice had returned to normal. "Oh, last night," he said casually. "When he came into camp talking of giant Indians. I called AD Skinner, worried, and he seemed concerned. He called me back with authorization to place Mulder in a Cedar City psychiatric hospital. I requisitioned the ambulance. The hospital he's going to is a nice, pretty place and I've called in experts in PTSD, and hostage syndrome, to treat him."

She looked at him. "Let me ask you something. Did you consider that this Talisman thing might have special supernatural properties?"

He looked into the distance. "I considered that it might have physical properties beyond what we could explain. If that's supernatural, guess I did!"

"Ok," she went on. "Well, if the thing's got supernatural properties, if it really has, then why dog Mulder? Why not believe him?"

"Why not?" he rocked back and forth. "Because Mulder had already displayed instability since the Krycek kidnaping. I knew immediately that PTSD and hostage syndrome were at work. That's why I didn't take seriously his talk of 20-foot Indians and so on. And I still don't," he said thoughtfully, "though doubtless some would disagree. Which are you?" he asked. "A believer, or an un-?"

She looked down at her dusty hiking boots. "I don't know," she said slowly, "I just don't know."

"Well! Time for our tea," he said brightly. "I hope you like chamomile?"

"I love it," she said, cheering up.

After they'd drunk their tea, they talked of the future. The camp would be broken tomorrow, the tents, appliances and furniture loaded up on big moving trucks at this moment on their way from Salt Lake City; they'd drive by jeep with their personal effects to Cedar City and board a prop plane to Salt Lake; thence a jet to D.C. There they would receive notification of their next assignments; but Skinner was giving everyone connected with the project a month's paid vacation, in addition to whatever other vacation that they had coming.

White remarked that he was going on assignment to the coastal town of Santa Cruz, California. They had some kind of hippie university there, and there was some problem with the coeds. Scully carefully declined to ask what the problem was.

"I'm going on a month's vacation to Maui, and you're invited," he said casually. "Wow," she said, eyes shining. "I might take you up on that. I've been there before but it was only for a week!"

He grinned and hugged her. "There's only one problem," he said seriously, "That's...Dana, do you suntan or are you going to have to use that fake stuff in a bottle and lots of heavy duty sunscreens?"

"You nit!" she exclaimed. "Of course I tan! Why wouldn't I?"

While he was chuckling, she hit him with a pillow. "Oh, yeah?" he said, and hit her with the pillow nearest him. A pillow fight, with much squealing and laughter, ensued.

They lay back on the bed, side by side. "Want to spend the night with me, Dana?" White asked, running a hand through her hair. She smirked.

"I don't know whether I'm up to that kind of night," she said.

He sat up on the bed. "Tell ya what," he said, "you can wear your jammies with the feet on 'em, and I'll wear my long johns, and that way we'll be totally un-tempted by each other."

She snorted laughter. "Yeah, right. Well, I'll be back." She walked to her tent, changed into a pair of men's pajamas she had, huge and comfortable, and stood at the door. "Knock, knock."

He looked up. "Oh, that's cute, Dana." She noted that he was wearing what he usually wore -- a pair of silk sleep-boxers. "Hey, what's the deal? You promised."

"I in fact did not promise. Now get into bed."

"Huh! No one orders me around!"

"Except your superior officer. Now get into bed."

She grinned and crawled under the covers. "Spoon."

"You got it, babe."

"You're poking me."

"My elbows aren't anywhere near you."

"OK," she sat up and looked down at him. "One last time, for old time's sake, OK?"

Without ceremony, she pulled the pajama bottom down. "There," and she flopped back down on her side.

"OK, are you gonna help me here or what?"

"Complain, complain," she said, but she grasped his cock and positioned it for rear entry. He pushed, and was inside her. She gasped.

"OK, now this," he said pulling the pajama top over her head. "The better to fondle your beautiful breasts, my dear," he said, placing nimble fingers on her breasts, her nipples. She moaned. His free hand snaked around to play with her clitoris, and she began to move with him. When she came she screamed her orgasm and did not care because it did not matter, and then he was coming, exploding wetly inside her, and muffling his cries with his face buried in her neck.

When they pulled apart they were damp with sweat. Scully absently rubbed her face with her cast-off pajama bottom.

"Christ," said White, deep in the pillows. 

"What?"

"I'm hard again, and I want more," he said simply. "I want a lot more."

"Have you ever heard of satyriasis?" she asked severely.

"That's not what this is! This is normal, everyday horniness brought on by proximity to a beautiful nude woman whom one loves."

She sighed. "Well this beautiful, naked woman is going to bed. To sleep."

She crawled up under the covers. "Just hold me, David."

******************************************************************************

Alex Krycek was not having a good night. He couldn't sleep at all, knowing what the morning was likely to bring. He sat morosely at the kitchen table, stabbing it with his big hunting knife. He hadn't shaved or showered, or washed or combed his hair, in a couple of days and he knew that he wasn't looking any too appealing. That was the secret, wasn't it, with those bastards? Looking good? Then they gave you all kinds of presents and didn't kill you, for that matter, all in exchange for a few little favors. He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the memories of all the "few little favors" he had had to give.

Mulder. Was he back at the camp even now, comparing notes with Scully, laughing, perhaps laughing at him? Had he placed the Talisman? Krycek felt sure he had, and that this had happened about the same time he'd had the visions on the mountainside. Well, and what of it? Was the sun any brighter, the wind any softer? Was it going to save him, Krycek, from being beaten and whatever else they had in store for him? Krycek thought of that famous scene in 1984, the one with the rats, and he stabbed the table again, not caring how he scarred it.

When he was gone, who was going to care what he did? Who was going to know that he did it for Mulder and for all humankind? Who was going to know that he, Ratboy Krycek, had the softest of hearts hidden under the hard, hard shell? 

Who was going to know that he'd called the Consortium to set in motion a chain of events which would leave the world a better place?

There was a knock on the door. Krycek glared glazedly at it but said nothing. If that's not you, Mulder, my Mulder, then I don't want to know who it is.

"Hey, it's Bill, Alexei. Are you going to open the door?"

"Minute!" Krycek got slowly up out of his chair and went creakily to the door, holding his back like an ancient man. He stood in the doorway, hunting knife in hand.

"Look at you, Alexei! You've got to have a shower. Here, I'll go and run you a bath. And my dear, you should shave."

"Why? So I can look good for the Consortium? Be HIS pretty little boy-toy again? Make him feel good so he can forget what I did?" But he followed Bill Runningwater to the master bath. 

"Take off those nasty clothes; I'll get you some new ones!" Bill said, and Krycek stripped numbly, sitting on the edge of the bath. "Now get in, and I hope you remember how to wash yourself, Alexei."

Krycek slid into the hot fragrant water. "Yes, I do know how to wash myself, Bill. So scram!"

Runningwater, taking no offense, left, leaving the door open. Soon he came bustling back with fresh shorts, socks, shirt, sweater and jeans, saying not a word.

Alex soaked for a while and then washed himself, taking pains not to disturb the sutured wound. As he rubbed around his cock and balls, he, incredibly, found himself getting an erection. He looked at it for a minute then closed his eyes and stroked it, thinking of Mulder: this is Mulder's lips on the cockhead, on the shaft, lipping and tonguing the head, licking the shaft, sucking up and down, sucking the balls into his mouth and holding them there.

Krycek's cock penetrated the surface of the water, bobbing, wet and glistening. He opened his eyes, thinking, these are Mulder's eyes looking at my cock, admiring it, drinking it in. Mulder.

"Suck it, Mulder," Krycek said softly, rubbing his wet hand up and down, down and up on the long red slick shaft. "Mulder, Mulder. Love ya Mulder. Love the way you suck." Opening his eyes, he saw the white sticky semen shoot across the room. Rising from the bath, still erect, he knelt down on the terracotta tile floor. "Lick it, Mulder!" he commanded softly, and he licked up all traces of come from the floor.

He was still erect. He got back in the bath and began to stroke himself again. He became fully engorged, the "mushroom cap" head red and glistening, the shaft purple and beautiful to behold. At this time Bill Runningwater poked his head in the room. "Ah--excuse me," he began, but Krycek called him back. "Want to see me come?" asked Krycek wickedly.

"Well, sure, Alex, but--" "No buts. Just sit there on that chair and watch it happen." "I don't think so," said the older man, who excused himself. "You embarrass me, Alex," he said. Krycek closed his eyes, crying "Mulder! Mulder!" and came, shooting come into the bathtub.

After the bath, Runningwater persuaded Krycek to "eat something." "Something" turned out to be a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich and a glass of milk. It was all he could stomach.

"Hey Bill," said Krycek casually, "do you still have that old army-surplus combat uniform and helmet I used to have?"

"Ye-e-e-e-s. What did you want with it, Alexei?"

"I just wanted to look at it. You know, I want to go through all my old stuff."

"Well, it's in the second closet, box on the third shelf...right hand side."

"Well, that's very efficient of you! Thank you!"

"You're welcome. Is this something you plan to wear, Alexei?"

Krycek looked at him with glowing green eyes. "Don't worry about it," he said.

******************************************************************************

"Langly," came the whisper.

"Uh, I'm trying to sleep here, Frohike!" Langly whispered back.

"They're picking us up at the mine at 6:00?"

Sigh. "Yes. And it's now, uh [indiglo watch consulted] 2:00, Frohike, and we have to get up at 4:30, and some of us would like to get some sleep."

"Oh. Langly?"

"Yes?"

"Are you sure the thing actually works?"

"Well, I've never actually test-driven it, ya know, Frohike?" Exasperated whisper; sound of a sucker being unwrapped.

"Oh. Yeah. Langly?"

"Now what?" Sucker being masticated.

"If it works? What will we do then?"

"I dunno. That's up to Byers. He's the brains of the outfit."

"I beg to differ, " said Frohike with dignity, "my IQ--"

"Frohike, we don't care about your IQ. It could be a thousand. This assignment calls for street smarts, man!"

"Is that for before or after we go to jail?"

"Frohike."

"Yeah?"

"Hey, go to bed. Sleep tight, little dude!"

"OK!"

******************************************************************************

Because of the injection of Ativan he'd received, Mulder slept most of the way to Cedar City over the bumpy, uneven roads. He began to awaken when the ambulance pulled into a parking lot. "We're here," said the pretty co-paramedic perkily. Mulder would have slapped her, but his arms were restrained.

"Where the fuck is here, may I ask?" he mumbled. His tongue seemed to cleave to the roof of his mouth. "Water?" he said hopefully.

"This is Cottonwood Lanes Hospital," she burbled. "We'll be getting you out now, Fox."

He groaned. He HATED his first name.

"Wendy," as she was called, went around to the back of the ambulance with "Peter," the driver, and rolled out the gurney.

"It's still night," he observed. Wendy consulted her Swatch watch. "Exactly 3:00 in the morning," she said.

They rolled him around to the back of the admitting ward. "Oh, Fox Mulder?" said the admissions nurse, a woman with a bun with a pencil through it. "Special admit. He goes right to Cabin 1013."

The two perky EMT's exchanged banter and tried to engage Mulder in conversation as he was rolled to "Cabin 1013." It turned out to look like a little bungalow. Inside, Mulder's straps were released and he was helped off the gurney and onto a wicker chair.

"Here you are, Fox," said Wendy with exaggerated sweetness, leaning down to dimple in his face. "I believe all these units have stocked refrigerators. There is a full bathroom to your left, two bedrooms to your left, kitchen and dining room right here... you'll probably be getting a roommate pretty soon. These units fill up fast!"

She dimpled again. "Now here is how you call the nurse, just like in a regular hospital, Fox, pay attention please, your nurse should be by in a few minutes to tuck you in!"

She and Peter excused themselves and Mulder was left in blessed silence. He found he needed to use the bathroom, so he did. After that, he got himself a glass of pretty good-tasting water. He looked in the refrigerator: aside from the usual, there were several packets of sunflower seeds. He took one and after that, he tried the door, and it was open, so he let himself out into the night. He looked up at the stars and at the cottonwood trees that gave the place its name, blowing cottony bits of seedpods all over, dropping them in the river that ran past the back of the bungalow. He hugged himself and felt very strange.

Of course, the possibility of escape occurred to him early on, but he noticed a high chicken-wire fence that ran all around the perimeter of the hospital. Ah, well, chicken-wire could be circumvented: climbed or cut pretty easily. He studied the possibilities while chewing and spitting sunflower seeds to his heart's content on the front porch.

Krycek hadn't had sunflower seeds. Krycek. The name sent a stab of pain through him so bad he doubled over. "Alex, oh Alex," he said.

He needed for Alex to be here, needed to feel his kiss, needed to hear him call Mulder "lisitsa" and "lisa." He needed for Alex to be holding him, fucking him. And he needed to fuck Alex in turn. Oh, Alex...

Would he ever see Alex again? When he'd taken his leave and Krycek had ridden off like the wind on that big racer of his, wounded, he'd thought that somehow, the younger man would survive, as he had survived everything else in his life. Now, he wasn't so sure. There were too many variables..Oh, Alex.

And suddenly Mulder was praying in a language he did not know, and then out by the cottonwoods he thought he saw a slim, lithe figure with dark hair. "Alex Krycek!" he commanded. The figure came just to the edge of the spotlights on the porch. Mulder could just discern a young-looking man, very slim with spiky black hair. And were those eyes green? This person, though, was wearing a combat uniform. Mulder stood up, dropping sunflower seeds all over the porch. "Alex -- " and he started to run to him, but the figure dissolved and blew away on the night air.

Mulder returned to his cabin, sat down on the porch and cried.

******************************************************************************

"It's three o'clock, Alex, perhaps you should come to bed." said Bill Runningwater, touching Krycek's back gently. Alex was slumped over the table, hunting knife still stuck in it. He was bathed and shaved and clean now, but Runningwater didn't like the fact that Krycek was wearing that combat uniform he'd dug out of the closet.

Krycek looked at him blearily, from red-rimmed eyes. "Don't you have a horse to shoe?"

Bill smiled. "I could probably rustle one up. But I think tonight my place is here with you."

He gave Krycek's good shoulder a gentle shake. "Today is a very busy day for you."

Krycek smiled savagely. "Yes, it would seem so." He pulled the knife out of the table and threw it across the room at a calendar on the far wall. It stuck on the day, July 20th, then ripped down through the paper and clattered on the tile floor.

Runningwater felt the hair rise on the back of his neck. "Please don't do that again," he said quietly.

"Oh, why not?" asked Krycek, his eyes flinty green pebbles from the bottom of an icy stream.

"Because it's dangerous, Alex. And it's uncanny."

Krycek regarded him. "Don't you know that I am regarded as the most dangerous spy in the world? If I can pick the eye off a newt at thirty paces with a hunting knife, then that just goes with the territory, don't you think?"

"Alex, you are beginning to change...to metamorphose into someone I don't know. I don't like it, and I don't know that Mulder would."

Krycek glared at him. "How do you know what Mulder would and would not like! Mighty presumptuous of you to assume that, isn't it?"

Runningwater rose with dignity and left the room.

Krycek took all his firearms out and laid them on the oak table. His Sig Sauer, left over from his FBI days. His old German Luger, still good, still reliable, and a Glock 33, and last but not least, his Uzi and Kalashnikov. He picked out the Sig, weighed it in his hand, checked to see that the clip had bullets. Then he used the vast kitchen for target practice.

******************************************************************************

At first Scully dozed peacefully in the eyes of her sleeping lover. Then, about 6:00, she didn't know what exactly, perhaps a sharp sound, caused her to awaken suddenly, her eyes snapping open. She extricated herself from White's arms, pulled herself into her pajamas and ran to her own tent. There she dressed and pulled her gun from her desk -- thank God it was still there, how careless of her to have left it there! She ran up and down the aisles of the camp, looking for, listening for, she knew not what.

Then she heard it -- the unmistakable "thwup thwup thwup" of a helicoper on idle. The Lone Gunmen! She looked in their tents: empty of course. She ran toward the chopper on the ridge. Was she too late to stop them? As she approached within the last 50 yards, running so hard her lungs burned, the copter began to lift off. "No--No!" she screamed. "Stop or I'll shoot!" She opened fire. Two bullets pinged off the copter's exterior without causing much damage, then the chopper rose higher and out of range.

Scully stood in defeat, watching the copter fly off towards the mountains. Oh no, she thought, oh no.

******************************************************************************

"Jesus Christ, man!" the pilot complained to Byers. "You never warned me about that little wildcat with the gun!"

"That was just an anomaly," said Byers mildly. "About how long will the trip take, do you think?"

"Shouldn't take more than a half hour, I'd think," said the pilot, chewing a wad of tobacco. He leaned out his window to spit. "Whew...that was a big 'un! Hope there was nobody right underneath us!" He joked.

Byers looked away in distaste.

"Langly," came the voice from the back seat.

"Frohike," Langly answered. He was sucking happily on a sucker. Things all going according to plan and all that.

"I'm scared."

"Yeah, well don't be. The person who has to be scared is that Krycek."

"Huh?" yelled the pilot, against the roar of the engines.

"Nothing!" They said hastily, at the same time. Langly looked at Frohike, and Frohike at Langly, and each placed a finger over his lips.

"Spit," observed the pilot, and spat more tobacco juice.

"Eeeeewww," said Frohike, quietly.

******************************************************************************

Mulder's nurse came into the bungalow at approximately 3:30, just as promised. She listened to his heart and took pulse, blood pressure and temperature readings. She left a booklet, "Hospital Rules at Cottonwood Lanes," and described the program there. "Your therapy and psychiatric consultations will be in the large main building, which you've seen, driving past it. Your psychiatrist will probably be Dr. King, although I can check on that. Normally patients are assigned social workers, but in your case that doesn't apply. Some specialists are being flown in from D.C., and will probably meet with you tomorrow. Any questions, just pick up the phone, dial 13, and a nurse will come on the line to talk to you. If you have an emergency, press the buzzer here. The other patients will be getting roommates, but you won't because you're a special case. Now, do you prefer to be called Fox or some other name?"

"Oh," said Mulder, his eyes glazing over at all this new information, "uh, Mulder. Just Mulder."

"Well, OK, then, Mulder, I'm Nurse Lucy, and welcome to Cottonwood Lanes and have a good stay!"

"Thank you!" and they shook hands.

It wouldn't actually be much of a STAY, Mulder thought. As soon as he could get himself together he was out of here, over or through that fence. He sat in the kitchen eating sunflower seeds thoughtfully. Until 6:00, when he jumped up suddenly. "Alex! Alex is in danger!" 

He ran outside and screamed wildly, "Alex! Alex! Oh my God, please protect him, Alex! Alex!"

He began to climb the fence. He got about halfway up when a police car drove by. The policemen got out of their car and looked at him. He looked at them. "Um, sir," one of them said mildly, "You must get off the fence now."

"I can't get off the fence. I have to leave! Alex is in danger!" he cried, and his voice cracked.

The cops looked at each other, then at him. "Now, I'm sure that whoever this Alex is, he's JUST FINE. Now please get off the fence, that's a good boy."

"I am not a boy!" said Mulder with as much dignity as he could muster. "I am an FBI Special Agent and I am investigating a case."

The cops looked at each other again. "If you don't get off the fence, sir, one of us is going to have to drive around there, come up and yank you off. Now get off the fence."

Mulder let go and landed on his butt. Alex...he was in danger and Mulder could not help him. Not for the first time that day, he sat where he was and wept, rocking himself.

******************************************************************************

At 6:05, White, hurriedly dressed, joined Scully on the hill. He'd heard the shots and come running out. It was too late; their quarry got away, the drone of the engines coming more and more faintly.

"I can call the Army and get some choppers out here," White offered.

"Yes..yes...then they can check on Krycek, even if it is...too late."

White dashed down to his tent to radio the Army. Scully stayed up on the ridge, standing and thinking. She wondered how she knew, suddenly, that the copter was out there, and how she knew the Lone Gunmen were intending to hurt Krycek. She would never in a million years have suspected something like this from these guys. It was a shocker.

"Agent Scully?" A hesitant voice asked.

"Yes," she turned toward the voice. It was Dan, the ex-houseboy of Krycek.

"Why, Daniel!" she said. "Haven't seen you around much lately!"

"Well, I-I'm mostly with the horses and just generally helping out, I guess," he ducked his head.

"Well, I'm sure you're a big help. Can I help you with something?"

"Well, I-I wanted to tell you s-something a-about K-Krycek." Poor kid, his stuttering seemed to get worse talking about his former master.

"Yes?"

"H-he's g-got lots of weapons, A-Agent Scully. A small arsenal. An Uzi and a K-Kalashnikov. I th-think he could take c-care of himself in a f-fair fight."

She nodded. She wasn't surprised. She guessed the trick was, if Krycek had some kind of forewarning. She wondered why she cared about him enough to be going through all this shit. Well, she didn't, she hated him, but she also felt a burning pity for him. She sighed. It was complicated.

White came jogging back. "OK, I radioed the Army and they're sending a Cobra out here and some troops, in case the Gunmen come back here.

Scully shook her head. "Oh, they won't come back," she assured him.

******************************************************************************

Frohike looked down and saw the world rushing away from him. Over hill and dale, he thought.

"OK," the pilot was saying, "Over this last hill, see, we'll get to Hidden Valley. They say someone lives here, like a famous spy or sorcerer or something. You guys really wanna land there, I'll land there, but I'll probably stay in the chopper."

Chewing his cud, thought Byers with distaste, but said nothing.

They squeaked over the last ridge -- guy could've used a little more altitude, Langly thought --and there they saw the fabled Hidden Valley laid out before them. Neat pasturelands and verdant fields filled one end, where at the other they could see the long sprawl of the ranch house and outbuildings.

"Land there," said Byers, pointing to Krycek's alfalfa field. The pilot brought the craft down and cut the engines. "Ya know," he said, "I kinda wanna get a look at this guy, something to tell my grandkids."

Byers said tightly, "suit yourself!"

They all climbed out. "Wonder if we'll have to knock on the door or what?" Frohike wondered. "Uh, Mr. Krycek, can we come in and kill you? Mrs. Krycek, can little Alexei come out to play with a bomb?"

They didn't have to approach the house any closer than fifty feet, because a lithe figure in a combat uniform darted out to greet them. He was tall and slim with spiky black hair and big dark eyes that were rolling like a fractious stallion's. His long sleeves partially concealed the fact that he had only one arm. In the other, he cradled an Uzi, and it was held at the ready. 

"You bastards!" he screamed, and they took a step back. The pilot chewed and spat excitedly. "Oh, it isn't you. Who the hell are you guys? Oh, YOU guys! I can't fuckin' believe it! What the fuck do you want, you fuckin' nerds?"

He needs a vocabulary adjustment, thought Frohike.

Byers cleared his throat and stepped forward. "We wanted to give you this, Mr. Krycek," he said, and offered him a package wrapped in brightly-colored gift wrap.

"What the fuck's this? Oh, I know what this is! Say guys," he said, sidling up close enough for them to see the black greasepaint on his cheekbones, his wild green eyes. "I'm shy and I'm modest. I can't accept a gift like this. Oh, no. I'm gonna hafta give it BACK. NOW," he said in a terrible voice, first fixing one and then the other with the Uzi, "WHO HAS THE DETONATOR?"

Silence, and much trembling. One large gulp, as tobacco juice was swallowed.

Krycek said in a conversational tone, "OK. I'm gonna start by killing HIM," indicating Byers, "then HIM," Frohike, "and then HIM," Langly. "Oh, and then HIM," waving with the point of the Uzi at the pilot, who promptly wet himself.

Langly stepped forward. "I've got it," he said shakily. 

Krycek's voice was like a thunderclap. "WHERE IS IT?"

"Uh, it's here in my pocket."

"Take it out," said Krycek calmly. "Is that it? Good. Now," he said, "here's your package back!" and he handed the bomb to Byers.

Krycek backed up a few paces. He turned to Langly. "Depress the detonator. Do it now, or I'll shoot you, and leave you for the buzzards to pick!"

Langly looked at Byers, who shrugged and mouthed, "do it!" Shaking so hard he could hardly do it, Langly pressed the button.

And...nothing.

"Give me that!" Krycek barked. He depressed the button. Nothing. He struck it, wiggled it, moved it, and stepped on it. Nothing.

"OK," he said coldly. "So the detonator doesn't work. You think you got lucky. Hold up the bomb, above your head, Byers. Oho, surprised that I knew your name?"

Krycek pulled the Sig out of his waistband and took a shooter's stance. He plugged the bomb 3, 5, 6 times and nothing happened. "Put it in the field over there," he said, which Byers was more than happy to oblige him with. There he let loose a barrage of fire from the Uzi, until the "bomb" was peppered with shots. Still nothing.

Krycek yelped with laughter. "It's a dud," he said. "As are you," he added, his feral eyes sweeping the group. "Now get the fuck out. Byers! Take that thing with you! And this," he said, tossing him the detonator.

As the copter lifted off, Alex Krycek knelt in the field. At first he laughed like crazy, then he wept.

******************************************************************************

"Ya know, you guys ain't payin' me enough to do this," the pilot exclaimed [chew, spit!]. I gone and ruined a good pair of pants 'cause of that crazy bastard. He's the craziest bastard I ever seen. And you!" He looked at Byers. "With your bombs! Yer crazier than he is!" He nattered on and Byers managed to tune him out.

"Fuckin' Cobras," the pilot said with interest. They'd heard the Army choppers before they saw them. "Look! There they go!" They swept up over the Eastern ridge. "Headed for that Krycek dude's," the pilot observed. "That crazy bastard! What'd he do that everyone's trying to kill him?"

******************************************************************************

Krycek heard the Cobras coming before the Gunmen did. He stood, resolute, in the alfalfa field and waited for them to come to him. After the copters landed, several soldiers ran up to him. "Alex Krycek?" one of them asked tersely.

"Actually, my name is Fox Mulder," he said genially, smiling a little. They took in the combat getup and realistic toy Uzi and decided to humor him a little.

"Sir, we're looking for an Alex Krycek who matches your description precisely. May we please see some ID?"

"Oh, it's at the house."

"May we please see the house?"

"Sure," he turned and indicated his home. "See? The house!"

"Sir, this is no laughing matter. We have orders to check on an Alex Krycek, who may be in danger or who may have died."

"This is Alex Krycek, speaking to you from beyond the grave," he said seriously.

They exchanged looks. The leader said, "Sir. If you are indeed Mr. Krycek, which we believe you to be, number one, you are in danger, and number two: Sir, I advise you to seek psychiatric help." They saluted and loped off, got in their vehicles and their Cobras lifted off.

Alex watched them rotor away, thoughtful. Who the fuck had sent them? Had someone told him, he would never have believed it.

Slowly, he picked up his Sig, and stuck it in his waistband. He recovered his "toy" Uzi. He knew what he would do before They got here. First, he decided, he had to get changed, his face scrubbed and hair slicked down with gel. He had to look presentable.

******************************************************************************

At 7:00, Mulder had some breakfast: a bowl of Cornflakes. For him, this was cooking. He sat out on the porch to eat them. His phone began ringing. What the fuck? He answered it.

"Mulder." The familiar husky/sweet voice was unmistakeable.

"ALEX?! Alex, Alex, Alex! Oh, is it really you, Alex?" He danced around the room with the phone, tripping over throw rugs and bumping into furniture.

"Yes, Mulder, it's really me," Krycek said, softly. "Oh my love, lisitsa, I'm glad I found you! My darling, the Consortium is coming this morning, and I am afraid they will spirit me away with them. I won't see you for a while. Mulder," he asked, "what are you doing in a psychiatric hospital? You're not crazy!"

"They think I am because of my experiences with the Talisman. I had visions before and after I placed it. Oh Alex! There are no more aliens."

"No more aliens? That's incredible! Oh, lisa, it's so good to hear your voice!"

"What does the Consortium want with you?"

"They think I have the Talisman. When they discover I don't, and that it's unrecoverable, there will be hell to pay and I'll be the one to pay it."

"Alex, you can't let them find you! Can't you get on Guardian and gallop into the mountains?"

"No, lisitsa. You see, when I tell them they'll have to shut down all alien-related operations. No more innocent people will die. And there are other reasons..."

"Oh, Alex, Alex! I love you so much! I can't let you go to them!"

"Ah, lisitsa, I love you more than you'll ever know."

"Alex, I'm also here, at this place, because they think you brainwashed and traumatized me and they want to deprogram me."

There was a sharp intake of breath. "So, when all is said and done, that's what this is about...Scully and White are behind this, no doubt? No matter. What matters is that you might not, in the end, know me at all...I might become a total stranger to you." There was infinite sadness in the voice.

"Alex."

"Yes?"

"Don't be sad. I'll be OK. I think it would be easy to escape from here, anyway. Maybe you could help me. Or I could run to you."

Silence.

"Alex?" he asked, anxiously.

"Lisitsa," Krycek said sadly. "I don't feel that this would be possible at this time. You can't come to me, where I'll be."

"Alex, where will you be?" Mulder twisted the phone cord. A quiet dread had stolen in on cougar feet to sit on his shoulder and dig in its claws.

"Alex?" He asked quietly. "You'll be with those Consortium people, won't you? Alex, are you going to be working for them again? I thought after they found out about the Talisman--"

"Alex, what hold do they have on you? What do they do to you! Alex! What are their 'other reasons'!" he cried, as comprehension sank in.

"It is as you dread," said Krycek. 

Mulder remembered his visions: the stigmata on Krycek's hands and feet, the cutting out of the heart... A terrible sacrifice.

"A great sacrifice, Alex," he said softly. "Oh, my darling, I would make it for you if I could."

"I know, lisa. Look, this won't be permanent, Mulder. I'll be able to get away from them sooner or later...but will you want me, knowing...knowing they'd touched me? Knowing HE'D touched me?"

Mulder squeezed his eyes shut. A tear stole from beneath a lid. "Alex," he said, "I love you absolutely. You are the love of my life. And I will always want you. Nothing changes that."

"Thank you, lisitsa. You are the love of my life...I can't tell you how much I love you. You'll never know just how much, I fear."

"Yes," said Mulder thickly. "Yes, I do know. I do."

"Well, Mulder, I've got to go," Krycek said breezily. "It looks like I've got visitors."

******************************************************************************

The Lone Gunmen's pilot set them down on the desert hardpan across from the little store of telephone and Swiss cheese sandwich fame. The driver harrumphed when Byers handed him the $500 cash. "Well?" Asked Byers.

"You didn't pay me enough for my troubles, considering the bombs and Uzis and crazy ladies with guns, and Cobras," the driver complained.

"Well, here," said Byers, and counted out one more hundred. Two. The pilot looked at the cash. He looked at Byers, sizing him up. Byers read the look right.

"OK." he said, "tell me, exactly how much money would it take for you NOT to go to the police or other authorities?"

The driver stroked his fat chin. "I think another $500 would do it." Byers paid and got out of the chopper. The other two were already out. Ducking beneath the blades, Byers joined them.

They were looking more dazed than usual, tired, and dispirited.

"So our mission failed," remarked Frohike. "It's a good thing, really. We can't go around killing people." 

"Think we can go back home without being busted?" Langly asked anxiously, unwrapping a sucker from its little paper womb.

Byers nodded. "I think so. I don't think any charges will ever be filed against us, boys."

"What makes you say so?" Langly asked.

Byers shrugged. "We didn't do anything! The bomb was a dud!"

"Yeah, but we threatened him with it anyway."

Byers sighed. "Langly," he said, "the only witness of this is A) the pilot, whom we just paid off and B) Krycek. Now which of these will turn us in?"

"Maybe the pilot," ventured Frohike. 

Byers shook his head. "There's no evidence, once we destroy the 'bomb'."

They considered this for a moment.

"Well, then, " Frohike said, "all for one and one for all!" 

"All for one and one for all!" they echoed.

******************************************************************************

When the Army helicopters set down outside the camp, White and Scully and a few other agents ran to meet them. The lieutenant alighted from the foremost Cobra. "Good morning, Sirs and Ma'am, " he said. "We talked to a fellow we believe to be Alex Krycek. He identified himself as Fox Mulder, but then couldn't produce ID, and he met the physical description of Krycek exactly, including having only one arm. He was dressed in combat uniform and carried a toy Uzi submachinegun. We believe that he is psychiatrically compromised. If there is any way you could get him off that mountain and into treatment, we feel that it would certainly be justified. Thank you Sirs and Ma'am!" the lieutenant touched the brim of his cap to them and got back in the Cobra.

"Well," said Scully, "Fox Mulder, huh? Combat fatigues and toy Uzi? Sounds like Krycek's flipped his lid."

"Maybe," said White. "Maybe." He scanned the sky warily as if waiting for something else to fly over. In a couple of minutes, it did.

"Look," White said urgently to Scully. "Another chopper!"

"My Gosh, you're right," she exclaimed. 

"Small commercial copter," he remarked nonchalantly. She looked at it, frowned. There was something familiar about this one. She'd seen it, or one like it, before.

"The Consortium," she guessed at once. "How do you know?" White frowned.

"I don't know; I'm just guessing," she said. "Just an intuition. Looks like they're on their way to Hidden Valley, all right. Krycek has got his goose cooked now! No Talisman to show them!" She sighed and followed the copter with her eyes until it dipped over the ridge. She could well imagine that whatever the Consortium had in store for Krycek was far worse than anything Krycek could have done to Mulder.

******************************************************************************

Alexei Stefanovich Krycek put on his favorite black leather jacket and stepped into the sunlight. The chopper had cut its engine and that chain-smoking bastard had stepped down from it, black raincoat swathing his lanky figure. As usual, he was smoking in the European style, cigarette held between thumb and forefinger. He stood, waiting for Alex to walk over to him. Alex squared him shoulders and lifted his chin. He faced a dreadful uncertainty with a spirited gleam in his eye, like a sailor looking into the squall that he knows will swallow him.

He stopped ten feet from the Smoking Man. "Good morning," the man said. He had a nice resonant voice. "You're looking fine, Alex!"

"Hello," said Alex, abruptly.

"Do you have it, Alex?"

"Have what?"

The man gestured with his cigarette. "The Talisman, Alex."

Slowly, Krycek shook his head. His jaws clenched.

"Well, where is it, then?" the Smoking Man asked quietly.

Alex shook his head. The Smoking Man took a few steps forward.

"Alex! You haven't lost it..or sold it, have you?"

"No. It went south." The smoker delivered a ringing slap to Alex's face.

"It went south, I tell you," Alex said. Another slap, this one sending Krycek reeling.

"Paul!" the Smoking Man called toward the chopper. A massively-muscled goon type stepped out. "Beat some sense into our friend Alex here. Be careful not to mark up his face."

Throughout the beating, Krycek was careful not to fight back. When it was over, every bone in his body ached. Despite the admonition regarding his face, he sported a split lip and rapidly darkening eye. He rose slowly to his feet.

"Now," the Smoking Man said, "we're going to start again. Where is the Talisman?"

Krycek looked him in the eye. "It went South. It went to an FBI installation, OK, and they united it with a dead Indian they found. And now there are no more aliens. Check your intelligence reports!"

"Ok," said the Smoking Man at last. "I'll do you the service of checking your story. If it checks out, you will live. In the meantime, my lovely, lovely boy.. Take off your jacket and shirt and lie face down in the dirt."

Krycek did as he was told. He heard clinks as the man's belt was taken off, then it went whistling through the air and landed on Alex's back. He tried not to scream through the beating, one of the worst of his life. When it finally stopped, he could barely get up, he was trembling so badly. The Smoking Man kindly held out his jacket for him to slip into. Krycek could feel the raw back skin sticking to the lining of the jacket. Oh, he wanted to scream.

"We're leaving now," the Smoking Man said. "Care to sit next to me, Alex?"

Krycek didn't care to, but he nevertheless got into the seat next to the smoker. He saw that his old friend the Well-Manicured-Man was there too. After exchanging greetings, he tried to lean back but this was too painful, so he leaned forward and rested his aching head on the seat ahead of him.

"We're taking you to a small coastal California town called Santa Cruz. I think you'll like it there, Alex."

Krycek arranged his face into pleasant lines, inasmuch as he could, given its condition. "Thank you," he said huskily.

"Don't mention it," said the Smoking Man, and ran a hand through Krycek's soft hair.

******************************************************************************

Shortly after 8:00 that morning, two nurses came for Mulder with a wheelchair. "You must want someone else! I can walk perfectly well!" he laughed. They looked at each other. 

"This is for you," one said and before Mulder could move she'd swabbed his arm with alcohol. The other held a hypodermic syringe poised for action.

"Hey!" he said, but the needle went in before he could react.

"Just a little something to make you feel better," the nurse purred. He felt his legs getting weak and he was helped into the chair.

"Where're you taking me?" he asked.

"We're just taking you to your first therapy appointment."

"With Dr., uh, King?"

"No, I believe this is the fellow from D.C."

"The deprogrammer?"

They were silent, exchanging warning looks. Mulder looked up at them, eyes full of all the hurt and suspicion in the world.

"You'll turn me around RIGHT NOW!" he yelled. One nurse raised a walkie-talkie to her lips. 

"This is AM, we have a Code Three, repeat Code Three, location 1013!"

"Oh for CHRISSAKES!" Mulder hollered. "I'm not gonna hurtcha ya DUMB CUNT!" The nurse flinched and stood back a little way from him. In a moment two burly young men came running to the rescue.

"Mr. Mulder, you're -- Here, let us help you up." They did and fastened leather restraints around his waist, buckling both arms in. "Now, there, Mr. Mulder. Sit down, and we'll get the legs." They fastened on the leg restraints. "Much better, wouldn't you say?"

Mulder glared at his tormentors. "Jesus Christ fuckin' Nazis!"

"Now, now, Mr. Mulder," one of the young orderlies said, patting him on the shoulder.

"Should I consider this foreplay?" Mulder asked coldly.

He was wheeled into a large office in the main building and lifted onto a bed. After what seemed like an eternity spent splayed in the hard hospital bed, leather straps digging into his limbs and face pointed at the ceiling, the door opened and two men came in. "Hi, Fox, we're Cliff Reynolds and this is Joe Phelan, and we're here to do your deprogramming." 

Mulder groaned. "Just shoot me and get it over with, OK?"

They laughed, and then one of them, Reynolds or Phelan, he wasn't sure which, called to one of the nurses, "Nurse! Hey! Get him out of these restraints!"

"The Pentothal you've been giving should have been good enough," the therapist said. "They shouldn't have put you in these barbaric devices."

"Ok, you may sit up, Fox. Here, you can lean against the back of the bed. Now, we're going to show you some pictures, OK, and tell you some stories about them, then we'll ask you some questions about them, simple questions, most of them requiring just a yes or no answer, OK?"

Mulder nodded warily.

Phelan rolled down a projectionist's screen and pictures were projected onto it. The first were pretty routine, although he wondered where they'd gotten some of the pictures: His boyhood home. His mother. His first girlfriend. Scully.

Then they projected Krycek's face on the screen. Mulder came to life with a strangled cry. "Alex, Alex!"

"Yes, you are right, his name is Alex Krycek. This is the face of your kidnapper and sexual terrorist, someone who raped you repeatedly."

"No," said Mulder thickly. Then "No, no!" he screamed.

******************************************************************************

Afterward, Mulder was wheeled back to his room and put to bed. Scully visited him while he was sleeping. "He looks so sad," she observed to her companion. "Yes, he does," he agreed. She bent next to Mulder's sleeping form and kissed him on the forehead. He stirred.

"Alex," he said in his sleep. She looked meaningfully at White. "Think this treatment is going to work?" asked he.

"Let's hope and pray it does," she said softly.

Two weeks or so into his confinement, Mulder sat eating sunflower seeds and tossing them to the chipmunks. A nurse approached with a very tall older man in his sixties, perhaps. He was dressed in an expensive suit and smoked a Morley cigarette with his left hand. The other held a fruit basket and flowers.

Mulder looked up, interested. "A visit?"

The man bent down and took his hand. "Fox? Do you remember me? I am your father."

End of "Tear of the Moon", Part I of the Dreambrother Trilogy

Continued in Part II, "Grace"

 

* * *

 

Author: Tabby  
Title: Dream Brother Part II: Grace  
Feedback: please! Either to the author, at either , or , or to her sister, who is to be blamed for any editorial mishaps, at .  
Webpage: http://slash-and-burn.com and http://tabbykat_95124.tripod.com/slash_and_burn1.htm  
Status: Complete  
Pairing: M/K also K/CSM  
Rating: NC-17 Warning: Rape, several violent murders, b&d.   
Spoilers: Amor Fati  
Series: Dream Brother #2  
Summary: As the intrepid X-Files team investigates a series of Satanic murders in liberal Santa Cruz, California, they meet a noble Wiccan priestess and Krycek meets his match when the CSM returns home from Europe.  
Notes: In Tabby's World, the Consortium, including its members the WMM and the CSM, is alive and well. The character of Special Agent White was loosely modeled on Special Agent Doggett, but is not meant to be him.   
Disclaimer: The characters Mulder, Krycek, Scully, Skinner, the Cigarette Smoking Man, the Well-Manicured Man, the First Elder and the Lone Gunmen are owned by Chris Carter and Ten Thirteen Productions.

* * *

Dream Brother Part II: Grace   
by Tabby

"Alex!" The voice was imperious.

Christ, thought Alex Krycek, and hurried to finish what he was doing, scribbling a hasty termination to his letter, shoving it in an envelope, --

"Alex!" More insistent this time.

"Coming," he called, "just a sec."

\-- sealing and stamping it, addressing it to Fox Mulder at 1550 Story Lane, # 1013, Cedar City Utah 84117, and shooting back the kitchen curtain to see whether the postman had arrived. He was at the top of the drive; Criminy! Said Alex to himself.

"Just a minute! Uh --" and he sprinted out to the top of the driveway where the mailman was just stuffing the mail in their box, which read, "Spender." 

"Here!" he said, and shoved the envelope in the startled mailman's hand. Krycek dug in his back pocket and pulled out a fifty. "If any mail arrives from this guy -- he pointed to Mulder's name --just stick it under the side door, over there, OK? That's where I live." The mailman nodded and pocketed the fifty.

Krycek sprinted back into the house, running so fast he nearly collided with the Old Man, who was seated on the taupe leather couch in the sunken living room, reading the paper. He rustled the paper shut and looked up at Krycek.

"Is this your idea of service with a smile, Alex?" he asked, gently chiding.

"Um, sorry!" said Krycek.

The Old Man extended a hand with an empty drink in it. "Please get me another whisky sour, Alex. And please, not so sour this time! It's supposed to have sugar in it!"

"I'm sorry," said Krycek automatically. That was something he said a lot of these days. Nothing he did, with the exception of the One Thing, seemed to please the old bastard. Krycek went to the wet bar in the dining room to fix the drink. One of these days, it's gonna be arsenic, he thought grimly. Supposed to taste like sugar, which seemed to be one of the Four Food Groups of this man, the other three being booze, cigarettes and sex.

He brought the drink back to him. The man had a Morley cigarette going between the thumb and forefinger of his hand, European fashion; he also had two burning in the antique Bakelite-and-sterling ashtray Krycek had gotten him for his birthday a week ago, August 13.

As if reading his thoughts, the Smoking Man indicated the ashtray. "Dump that out," he said. "And, oh, Alex, scrub it out." he added, flicking ash into it. 

"Yes, Mr. Spender," he said automatically. He noticed the man stiffen at the use of his proper name, but what the fuck else was he supposed to call him? "Hey, you?"

Krycek walked up the three steps to the big kitchen overlooking the Soquel countryside and dumped the ashes and butts under the sink. Then he took a nylon scrubby and rubbed it gently. No use ruining the expensive Bakelite. It had cost him $400.

"Alex."

Shit oh God. "Yes?" making his voice as sweet as possible.

"Come here, Alex. Forget the ashtray." Krycek's heart skipped a beat. He knew what was coming.

He walked down the steps as casually as he could over to the old bastard.

"Come here," and he cradled Alex's face in his hand. "You know, Alex, in spite of your...affliction..." his eyes strayed to Krycek's left side, which was minus an arm -- "in spite of that, you are still the handsomest man I have ever known."

Alex heard the gritty, furtive sound of a zipper being pulled.

Sighing to himself, he bent to the task at hand.

*************************************************

"Isn't this nice, Mulder?" Scully exclaimed. "This house, such a great location, right on Steamer's Lane! Two stories, ocean view! Nice of Skinner, wasn't it?"

Mulder chewed a sunflower seed and looked around thoughtfully. "Yep," he said, laconically.

Scully came over to him, grasped his hands. "It's so wonderful that you made such a speedy recovery, Mulder! No one was expecting you to, and it's so good to see you out, and at work..." she made a gesture and smiled at him. "I missed you something fierce, Mulder. Now," her voice became brisk. "Let's fix you something to eat!"

"Grilled cheese sandwich?" asked Mulder hopefully.

"Well, sure, if you like!" she said. She went exploring into the kitchen. "I see the refrigerator's stocked with a lot of stuff, we still need mmp mmgh," she said from within its cold depths. "Anyway, here's cheese, bread, butter, a..pan... Hey Mulder, what say we open this Chardonnay, just as a celebration?"

"Sure, Scully. Anything you like." He flopped down on the couch and punched the remote, bringing up ESPN. They had cable here...Cool. Scully came out of the kitchen with a look of concern. "Is the Chardonnay gonna mess up your psych meds, Mulder?"

He looked at her and smiled. "Not takin' 'em."

"Not taking them? Is that wise, Mulder? You could have a relapse."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "I don't need them, Scully, just bring me a glass of wine and a cheese sandwich and I will worship at the altar of Dana Scully forever. Though I understand you've got a regular parishioner anyway?" he asked slyly.

Scully giggled. "You're referring to the me-and-White thing? We had a great time on Maui."

"Heard it turned into an X-File."

She looked concerned. "Yes, it did."

"Have you looked at the X-File for this case, Scully?" he indicated the thick files on the coffee table.

She nodded. "Yes, I have been glancing through it. Looks complicated. But so don't they all!"

She noticed smoke in the room and ran quickly into the kitchen to rescue the charred corpse of his sandwich. She scraped off most of the black stuff and put what was left on a platter with the goblet of wine. Mulder looked at it and burst into laughter. "Some things never change!" he said.

"You remembered that I can't cook, eh?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. "Is it at least edible?"

Mulder tore off a piece and looked at it doubtfully. "Yeah," he said, and crammed it into his mouth. Moving in was hungry work.

*************************************************

Sometimes, when Alex had to do this, he "blacked out," and dissociated. He imagined he was at the circus, on the beach with the man he loved, anything but this.

"Alex," came the fruity voice when he'd finished. "What?" he asked thickly.

The man stood up, zipped himself up. He was very tall, half a head taller even than Krycek. "I and my associates are going back East and abroad for a few months. There are two things I want you to do for me: first, to manage our properties here in this area; and second, to look into a little matter regarding an X-File. This is it," he said, tossing a thick file onto the end table. "It is the exact duplicate of what Scully and Mulder have. I just want you to get at the truth before they do. I know you can."

"Alex, as a reward for your loyal and impeccable service, and for taking care of these little matters for us, you will be paid handsomely. Here is a little money to get you started." 

He pulled out a checkbook and quickly wrote out a draft, handing it to Krycek with a flourish. He took it and his knees felt weak. $500,000.

"And Alex, I expect the same...service...when we return. AND, Alex, no hanky-panky with Fox Mulder. At this point he doesn't know you exist...I want you to keep it that way."

He bent to kiss Krycek, and left the room. "My limo's here," he called, and Alex heard the door bang shut.

Alex walked moodily to the bathroom, clutching the check. He rinsed his mouth with water, then mouthwash, but he could not get the taste out. He looked at his reflection, at the check and then spat on the mirror. "You whore!" he said grimly.

*************************************************

"Mulder, after you finish your sandwich...there's an orientation for all new University professional personnel. That's you and me, Mulder. It starts in an hour."

"Oh. I've heard this is a pretty casual place. Are my jeans and tennies OK?" he asked hopefully.

"Well, I'm wearing this." She was wearing slacks, top and blazer, with heels.

"You can't wear heels up in those hills," he pointed out.

"Well, OK, flats then. Get a move on, Mulder."

He sighed, drained his goblet.

"It's at the Chancellor's home...a wine and cheese reception to follow." She stood impatiently tapping a toe.

"All right, already. I'm gonna wear what I have on after all. This place is different from other universities, Scully. Everyone wears jeans. You'll see."

Skinner had requisitioned a little yellow Volkswagen Cabriolet, which she was delighted with, for Scully, and a something...for Mulder. He hadn't yet picked it up and didn't even know what it was, and was happy to ride in Scully's little convertible.

Driving up the hill to the Chancellor's home, they were struck by the amazing wild beauty of the place, golden hills contrasting with gorgeous redwood forests, and an ocean view.

"Hey Scully," Mulder said, "I could get used to this place."

"We might have to, Mulder. This case could take a long time to resolve."

"Yeah, it involved ritual murders? We'll have it solved like that!" He snapped his fingers.

She nodded. "Maybe," she said cautiously.

They parked and walked up into the courtyard. Scully was glad she'd changed to flat-heeled shoes. Chancellor Lacroix was standing in the courtyard and they went to introduce themselves.

"I'm Fox Mulder and this is Dr. Dana Scully," he said.

"Ah, Dr. Mulder! I've read some of your papers in forensic psychology! Brilliant work, man! And Dr. Scully, the great pathologist! I understand you've had a lot of hands-on work in internal medicine, too. Great to meet both of you!"

They thanked him and went in for the orientation. They were shown an organizational chart and given a history and overview of the University. Then maps of the campus were handed out.

They then adjourned to the reception, where they mingled. Scully, chewing on a Wheat Thin topped with gjetost, noticed that Mulder had managed to snag himself a pretty blonde sociologist.

She looked toward the parking lot and there was David White, her lover, shaking hands with the Chancellor. She wasn't sure when White was going to show up on the Santa Cruz scene and she was glad it was now. White had a Ph.D. in astronomy and astrophysics, and was posted as a full professor of astronomy.

"Well, survived that," murmured Mulder on their way back to the Cabriolet. Scully smiled. This sort of big affair coming right on the heels of his release from Cottonwood Lanes hospital was bound to be a little trying. 

"Cute little blonde thing you had going there," she said playfully, backing the Volkswagen out of its parking space and heading it for the road.

Mulder chewed thoughtfully on a sunflower seed. "Was she?" he asked.

Scully glanced over at him. "Well, sure she was. Didn't you think so?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I mean, sure she was pretty, but she didn't do anything for me."

She turned back to the road. "Well, take your time, Mulder, with this dating thing, if you want. No rush."

Mulder, looking at her, wondered why she kept glancing anxiously his way.

*************************************************

Krycek, looking through the paper that the Smoking Man had tossed on the floor for him to take care of, wondered whether maybe he could work. In a regular job. He found a couple in the want ads that interested him and he called them.

It had occurred to him that by working part-time, he could kill two birds with one stone. Working with the public was an efficient way to spy. Mulder. He looked at the case file, thick with reports, photographs, analyses, depositions. Mulder was in town. On impulse he called "411" to ask for his number. No luck, of course, they would have it unlisted. Oh, he could get it all right, but it would take a little while.

He sighed. Mulder, oh Mulder. I love you so much. Do you love me? [no]. Do you think of me? [no]. Do you even know I exist? [no, no, no!] They had brainwashed him, he was sure of it. They had turned him into one of their little robots.

I am no better than he, then, he thought bitterly. In fact, I am ever so much worse. I am the Whore of Babylon, sold to the highest bidder.

Maybe I should be grateful, he thought. Who but the Consortium would hire a one-armed man to spy and...do other things...?"

I must meet Mulder and try to win him back...I don't care that the Smoking Man warned me against this...it is my private life and my business! Mulder... Good thing the Old Man told me he was in town; saved me writing more of those ridiculous letters and sending them to that funny farm. I hate to be embarrassed.

*************************************************

After the reception Scully drove them home. They spent a peaceful night in front of the stand-alone fireplace, Scully going through the ritual-murder file, reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose and glass of Chardonnay within reach, and Mulder thoughtfully cracking sunflower seeds and throwing the hulls in the fire, making it pop.

"Scully."

"Mm-hm?"

"What does it mean, "interstitial coagulation?"

She looked over at him over the top of her glasses. "It refers to the intracellular process that occurred when these people died, Mulder. The interstices are the spaces between cells, normally filled with a fluid with the approximate consistency and composition of saline. These people," she said, indicating a gruesome photograph with her hand "- died, it's thought, when the interstitial fluid coagulated, turned into a gel actually. This caused death in one case immediately by halting all bodily processes, in another slowly by cellular death and resultant gangrene."

"The girl who dragged herself into the Student Health Center last week." [chew, toss, pop!]

"Yes, exactly."

"But Scully, couldn't these deaths have been caused by a natural agent?"

"They could have," she said slowly, "but no known agent has this effect. There are a lot of unusual fauna and flora around this campus, but they've all been studied pretty extensively."

"And the markings on the bodies? Is that why it's being called a Satanic ritual-type killing?"

She nodded. "Yes. The formation of welts, a type of stigmata, spelling Hebrew words which, when translated, meant 'death,' 'hell,' and the like."

"Yes," he said. [chew, toss, crack!]. "This kind of thing is documented in the psychological literature. And in The Exorcist," he said, snickering.

"Yes, well. We three have been placed in a position to be able to study these phenomena pretty thoroughly. I of course have access to the local hospitals and to the labs and Student Health Center on campus, and you and White can..."

"Can study the coeds?" He laughed at the look on her face. "Don't worry, Scully. White is as gone on you as you are on him, maybe more."

As for me, he thought, no number of coeds can change what I am.

Early the next day, White came over. They embraced and kissed. Scully re-introduced Mulder to him. Ah, how different were his genteel greetings from the way he talked to White when he was in the mine camp and crazed and sick.

White and Scully retired to Scully's upstairs bedroom. Scully had asked Mulder if it was OK to have "guests" over, and he'd consented.

"Scully, pull off your pants," White said. "Now."

He had his off. "Now lie on the bed. You're gonna really feel it, babe."

He knelt over her and mounted her. She moaned . "Feel it?"

"Oh, yes, oh.yes.feels great!

"Good, here's some more ... and more...and more."

She came suddenly and very hard, racked with convulsions, screaming.

"My turn," he said, extremely turned on by her orgasm and needing his. He thrust 20 more times, banging her so hard the cast-iron bed frame hit the wall loudly and repeatedly, and exploded inside her, crying "Oh, Dana, Dana!"

They lay back comfortably. White looked at her, smoothed a stray wisp of that beautiful red hair back from her face. "That's good for starters!"

She grinned. "It's only been a week, David!"

He smiled. "Are you pregnant yet?

"Is that all you think about? No, as far as I know."

He patted her flat stomach. "Wish you were. It's such a turn-on."

She smirked. "You're sick!"

"You're the one who wanted to do the straps and handcuffs thing."

"For variety. I don't want you to get bored with me."

He looked at her with love. "Dana, I could never, ever get bored with you. You are a constant joy to me. I enjoy exploring your body; what man wouldn't? But I love enjoying your mind, little brilliant one!"

She smiled.

*************************************************

Mulder poked and puttered around downstairs, noticing the bed-banging with slight interest. He loved Scully, but as a sister, not a lover. In fact, he really hadn't noticed any woman lately. Or ever, maybe, he speculated. It was just possible that his first girlfriend, and for that matter, Diana Fowley, had been flukes.

Maybe he just hadn't met the right girl. A campus like UCSC would be swarming with beautiful coeds, and as an Assistant Professor, he could have his pick. Naaaww -- somehow it wasn't what he wanted.

He glanced upstairs. He wanted to borrow the Cabriolet and needed to ask Scully's permission, but Her Sexiness was otherwise engaged. He hesitated, then jotted out a quick note, stuck it under a magnet on the refrigerator, retrieved the car keys from the kitchen counter, and took off.

He drove down Mission to Highway One. He wanted to see the ocean, and he wanted to kick out the jams. He drove 30 miles up to Pescadero State Beach, stopped and went walking in the ocean, his jeans legs rolled up, but they still got wet. The ocean was indigo, the surf relatively low. He spotted a young man with a bodyboard, wearing the uniform of all Northern Californian surfers: a black rubber wetsuit. The surfer bobbed, the waves came crashing down. 

Mulder watched for a long moment, shading his eyes with his hand against the brilliant sun bouncing off sand and surf. 

Then he turned around and drove 30 miles back. It was a simple thing, and it'd made him happy. To celebrate, he decided to eat at a restaurant he'd heard about, the O'Mei, a Chinese Szechuan place.

He looked at the specials menu and was seated by a pretty Oriental woman. Pretty women everywhere, he thought. And not a drop to drink.

Mulder was seated facing the front window of the restaurant, overlooking Mission. He picked up his teacup and played with it. No sunflower seeds, he thought idly. His waiter approached him from his side. 

"Good afternoon!" he said softly, and the small hairs on the back of Mulder's neck stood straight up. He glanced up. "Oh -- hi!" 

The waiter was an extremely handsome man, made pirate-like by his black hair, a gold hoop in his ear, and the fact that he seemed to have no left arm. There was something instantly appealing about him, despite the arm. He exuded confidence and charisma.

"Do I know you?" Mulder asked quizzically. (Now, why should he ask that?)

The waiter smiled, showing white teeth. "I don't know. My name is Alex, and I am your waiter today. Now the specials are garlic lobster and crab with black bean sauce. I recommend the crab; the lobster can be tough."

Mulder appreciated his honesty. "OK, that's what I'll take, plus steamed rice and a glass of house white. Thank you."

He smiled up at the waiter, who smiled back very warmly. "No, thank YOU, Sir!" he said."

He brought the wine. Mulder, raising the glass, noticed that it had a small slip of paper stuck to it. He peeled it off. "Alex K., 326-4058," it read. The waiter had given him his number! Mulder was astounded. Was he being propositioned by a MAN?

*************************************************

"Scully, am I gay?" asked Mulder plaintively when he got back to the house. White had left and she was moving about the living room tidying up.

She looked up, startled. "No, I don't think so. You like girls, Mulder. Don't you remember? You've always liked girls, as far as I know. But why do you ask?"

"Well, when I went to the O'Mei, this waiter gave me his number."

"Oh. Well, that could happen anywhere. And here, especially, Mulder. Santa Cruz is like the gay capital of the Western world, after San Francisco, of course."

"Oh. OK."

"What'd he look like?" Scully asked idly, as though she really weren't interested, paying a lot of attention to fluffing a seat cushion.

"Oh, he was very handsome. Tall, slim, broad shoulders. Big green eyes, kind of spiky black hair, pale skin. Oh, and it was odd -"

"What was odd?" asked Scully, her heart in her throat. (Just say it isn't so! She was telling herself. Lots of people could match that description!)

He pulled out a packet of sunflower seeds and began crunching. "He, uh. It seemed like he had only one arm."

Scully, engaged in throwing out a handful of dead weeds the house's previous occupants had evidently decided were flowers, froze. She could feel all the color drain out of her face.

Mulder looked at her oddly. "What's the matter, Scully?"

"Did he give you his name, Mulder?" she asked softly.

"His name is Alex. His last name starts with a K. That's what he wrote on the note."

Scully began to tremble. "No, Mulder." she said softly.

"No what?" he was genuinely puzzled.

She pursed her lips, considering. "Mulder, you're not gonna believe this, but I know this man. I've known him from ... from previous cases. He's a double agent and a spy, Mulder. He's thoroughly bad, is practically like the Devil himself, and you must stay away from him! I can't believe he's here! Mulder, you may have to abandon the case. He will dog your every step; he's obsessed with you! Now, I don't know exactly what he's doing working as a waiter in a Chinese restaurant, but you can bet it's more than it seems!"

He stood staring at her in astonishment. "I don't believe it!" He said. "He seemed perfectly nice to me!"

She pushed back her hair distractedly. "Mulder, he's a sociopath and so can SEEM nice, but underneath he's rotten to the core!"

"I think I will call him," said Mulder, wickedly.

"Mulder!" she turned away in a huff. "After all I've been telling you about him? What's wrong with you?" Inside, Scully was quaking. All that deprogramming, she thought, and it's going to naught VERY quickly.

"Hey, you're gettin' some, Scully!"

"I'm different. White's respectable. Krycek is not."

"So his name is Krycek! And what about White is more respectable than...Krycek? That he's on the side of Truth, Justice and the American Way? Or that he's heterosexual?"

"Really, Mulder. I think you should call the therapist you agreed to see in Aptos. Call him now and see whether he will see you on an emergency basis!"

He looked at her. "You mean, it's an emergency that I'm gay?" he asked incredulously.

"No, Mulder, it's an emergency that you're interested in this Alex Krycek! He's poison, Mulder!"

"Well," he said, considering, "if it would make you happy, Scully, I'll call this Dr. What's-his-name."

"Dr. Bayer," she said quickly, and smiled. "Let me get you his card, Mulder. It's in my purse..." she went into the kitchen and returned.

"Here it is!" she said, offering it to him. "Give him a call, Mulder, he's really nice. I talked to him the other day and he's waiting to hear from you. Paid for by Skinner, by the way, so you don't have to worry..."

Mulder rolled his eyes. "OK, OK, I'll call him right now if you'd like."

"Yes, please do."

Sheesh. What was the big deal? He was attracted to this man; so what?

Mulder took the card. He retrieved the cordless handset from the dining room table and went upstairs, Scully smiling at him and giving him a thumbs-up. When she could not see him, Mulder punched in a number. A soft, husky and infinitely sexy voice answered, "Krycek."

*************************************************

Later, in the early evening, Scully received a call from the morgue. It seemed that they'd found another victim. She had marks on her chest; that was all the clerk could tell her. Scully called upstairs to Mulder: "Mulder! I'm going to the morgue! Have to check out another victim! Mulder?"

"Yeah?" came the sleepy reply. 

"I'm going out! You should go pick up your car at Pioneer Rentals, you know, because otherwise you won't have wheels, right?"

"Right," drifted downstairs. She shrugged and grabbed two iced coffee drinks and a Jolt Cola from the refrigerator and stuck them in her voluminous purse. This was bound to be an all-nighter.

Mulder lay in bed thinking about Alex Krycek. They'd set up a meeting for tomorrow at 2:00 at the local Starbuck's. Really should get that car... The conversation they'd held, although it had been pretty neutral, had shifted his hormones into high gear.

Mulder zipped down his jeans and took out his cock, which had already begun to lengthen and stiffen. He stroked it, thinking of Krycek's lips on his cock, licking and sucking him, and he moaned and writhed.

It wasn't long before he came all over himself, his hands and the bed. 

Mulder looked around. Great. Sticky stuff everywhere. He'd have to ask Scully about laundry facilities. He lay back in bed and went to sleep almost immediately.

He was awakened early the next morning when Scully popped her little red head in the door. "Um, oh, sorry, Mulder!" she said.

"That's OK," he said, staring at the ceiling. "Oh!" he remembered his dishabille, and pulled the covers up over himself. "Sorry, Scully."

"No problem!" she said briskly. "Just wanted to remind you that you've got a meeting with the psychology department chair at 11:00. To show you your office, your book list, things like that. Oh, and Mulder?"

"Yeah?" 

I'll give you a ride to your car this morning, OK?"

"Um, thank you very much, Scully. What's that smell?"

"It's bacon and eggs!" she said proudly. "David's here, and he fixed them himself!"

"Oh. Well, that's just fine, Scully! Tell him thanks!"

"Tell him yourself!"

She withdrew her presence, and Mulder yawned, stretched and got out of bed. Shower first, or later? A knotty question. Or maybe that should be, a "naughty" question? He looked at the alarm-cum-CD player. 6:00 in the morning, huh? Shower later.

It was a sleepy Mulder who joined Scully and White in the dining room. The table was set, and stuff that actually looked like food was piled high on blue willow platters. 

"Hi, guys," he mumbled. "Whatcha know?"

White finished scraping cheese-eggs into a large stoneware bowl.

"Hi, Mulder," he said, and his keen eyes raked Mulder head to foot. "I hear that you've had some problems with our little friend. Here, have some bacon!"

Mulder picked off four slices of bacon. "Um, French Toast, please -- Um, which little friend would this be?" he asked innocently.

Scully looked at him. "Don't be coy, Mulder."

Mulder looked back at her. "You went and told him," he gestured, indicating White. "Who else have you told?"

Scully sighed. "Mulder! Don't make this such a big deal!" She took a bite of French toast.

Mulder took a big swig of coffee. "Ah. That's better!" he said. "Weren't you the one making it a big, big deal last night?"

"Children!" said White mildly.

Mulder looked at him with annoyance. "It's my party, I can fight if I want to."

Scully rolled her eyes and drank some coffee.

"Anyway," said White, seating himself at the big walnut table, "Mulder, we discussed this last night because we both care about you very much. Your recovery, not to mention your success on this case, which is of dire importance, Mulder, depends upon your not getting mixed up with that man again, who seems, rather inexplicably, to have showed up again exactly where you were...It's enough to make a person believe in some kind of dark serendipity," he said, looking at Mulder with those hot-blue eyes.

"Um-hum," said Mulder intelligently, and attacked his French toast.

"Mulder," said White with greater urgency, "I think you should know that, should you evince any kind of instability, which includes renewing your relationship with Alex Krycek, I've been given the power to take you off this case."

Mulder looked at him with astonishment. "You wouldn't," he said. "Sausage, please, Scully." She passed him the sausage wordlessly, and he speared three. 

"Oh, but I would," said White. Mulder looked into his face, and read serious intent there. "I don't believe it!" Mulder laughed, shaking his head. "I am the only one qualified to uphold my end of the deal here!"

Scully was silent. 

"It's true, and you know it!" he exclaimed. "Out of everyone in the Bureau, I'm the only A) forensic psychologist with B) a doctorate and published papers, C) teaching experience and D) experience with X-Files-like cases."

Scully lifted a forkful of French toast to her lips. "We know that, Mulder, but you're also the only one with a psychiatric diagnosis and a history of instability, none of which, by the way, is your fault in any way."

White nodded agreement. "We know how brilliant you are, Mulder, and how uniquely suited you are to this assignment. But we also know that you destabilized around Alex Krycek."

Mulder played with his syrup, drawing a smiley-face. "So basically, if I hook up with Krycek, you'll kick me off the case. Who gave you the authority? Skinner?"

White sighed. "I only know that it came from high up in the chain of command."

*************************************************

When Krycek received the call from Mulder, he was delighted and amazed. So, although Mulder had not recognized him, he had still responded, a visceral response based upon Alex's good looks.

Well, I'll take it any way I can get it, he thought grimly. I can't make him remember me, but I can make him learn to like me. And maybe, just maybe, I can make him love me.

The cat was scratching at the back door, so Krycek let him in. "Hey, Baby," he said. Baby the black Persian shoved his face against Krycek's hand and rubbed round his legs, purring. "He doesn't deserve you, Baby," he remarked. "Want your special treats?" he asked, shaking a foil pouch.

Later he stood at the mirror in the master bedroom, trying on shirts. This blue one? He rummaged in the closet, shoving back the long row of dark suits. Ah, here it was: this forest-green flannel shirt that showed up his emerald eyes to best advantage. He cast the five other shirts he'd been looking at aside on the bed and quickly donned the green one. He looked at his jeans. Mulder had seen him in jeans already, and that's what Mulder himself was wearing. But he'd had that appointment at the University today at and perhaps was dressing better than otherwise, in order to impress the Psychology department chair? Krycek decided on a pair of khaki chinos and a pair of brown deck shoes with green socks to match the shirt. Can't be too careful here, he told himself.

Driving rapidly down the hill to his appointment at Starbuck's in the Old Man's black Porsche 984, he encountered a deer family crossing the road. Traffic was infrequent enough here that the deer was uncharacteristically bold. The stag stopped to look at him, challengingly.

"You're OK, boy," Krycek said softly. After a moment the stag moved on, flicking his tail. Krycek thought suddenly and irrationally of the mounted deer head in the den of his "lair," the ranch in Hidden Valley, only a month and 850 miles behind him.

He drove on but cautiously. It was a long and steep descent into town. Soquel Drive before him, he took a right, going past farmhouses, small businesses, Cabrillo College. 

He parked in the parking structure off of downtown Santa Cruz, and stepped onto the Garden Mall. 2:00 was high noon on the Pacific Garden Mall, with ancient and neo-hippies facing it off with tourists, businesspeople and street people. Well, it should have been that way, but generally things were remarkably calm here. There'd been a couple of murders here a few years ago involving high school students killing street people, but the town had recovered, as it always did after disasters, natural and man-made. There'd been an empty space where the Cooper House, a head-shop emporium and street-jazz venue, had come up missing after the disastrous Loma Prieta Earthquake of 1989, but there were now the beginnings of construction, poured concrete foundations still damp, scaffolding up. The lesbian activists who had for years blocked construction had finally been outvoted or whatever it was they did here at City Hall.

Krycek walked to the Starbucks and sat down at an outdoors table. He'd wait for Mulder outside, check things out. He pulled a pair of Ray-Ban sunglasses from his pocket and put them on against the bright glare.

*************************************************

At 10:00 Scully drove Mulder over to Pioneer Car Rentals and he picked up his vehicle, a late-model blue Ford Taurus sedan. "Can we trade?" he asked her.

"Nope," she laughed.

"Consider," he said. "The convertible messes up your hair. And then your hair messes up your makeup."

"Ha, I don't wear makeup!" she said.

He grinned. "That's because Agent White kisses it off!"

She grinned back. "Have a nice day, Mulder. Oh, and approximately what time do you think you'll be back? Dinner plans and all that. As in, you and I having them," she said offhandedly.

"Oh. Well, the University should keep me busy all day," he said solemnly. "Doesn't White get oriented? He seems to have an awful lot of free time."

She smirked. "His is tomorrow. Don't worry, he'll be at least as busy as you are, come the fall quarter."

"Where do you want to have dinner, Scully?"

"Let's eat in, OK?"

"Meaning White will cook? He's the only one of us three who can," he said, getting into the Taurus.

"He thought he'd make his signature lasagna with Alfredo sauce," she ventured.

"Sure, sure," he said, and turned the key in the ignition. "Guess I'll be off, then. See you!"

She waved to him. "See ya!"

Mulder drove up to the University, parking in a space marked "Faculty Only." Faculty! How odd that sounded! He got out and walked up the little hill past the signs marked: Faculty Orientation. He followed the signs into Thimann Hall and thence to a door with a permanent sign marking the Psychology Department Chair. The door was open, so he walked in. In a little anteroom, a very pretty young secretary with an aquiline face and wavy blonde hair smiled at him over her keyboard and indicated yet another door. "Just go in!" she said. "he's expecting you!"

Mulder walked in and knocked on the inside of the open door. "Knock, knock!" he said lamely. The man who'd been sitting with his back to Mulder jumped up and came over to shake his hand. 

"I'm Elliott Aronson," the man said. He was of medium height, with graying brunet hair and beard. 

"Fox Mulder," said Mulder, "and I'm very pleased to meet you." He was. He'd read a number of the famous social psychologist's papers, and indeed he had strongly influenced Mulder's own research. It was like meeting a friend.

"Should I call you 'Fox' or 'Dr. Mulder," Aronson asked.

"Oh...people usually call me 'Mulder,' but call me anything you want."

"OK, Mulder. You're welcome to call me Elliott," Aronson said, turning aside to pick up a stack of books. "Here are the texts you requested," he said handing them to Mulder. "Hopefully the bookstore ordered enough this time!" 'I requested'? Mulder thought. Must've been handled by Scully or someone.

"And these," said Aronson, "are your syllabi. We didn't know how familiar you were with computers, so we went ahead and had Sharon type them up. He indicated the anteroom. "Sharon Green. Don't know how we survived before she showed up. 160 IQ."

Mulder whistled. "Doesn't look like she needs it."

"Don't let her fool you. She's not a manipulator," Aronson observed. "OK, let's take you to your office and classrooms, so you can see where you'll be working."

They walked first to Mulder's office. It was rather larger than he expected, with comfortable chairs, desk, computer, and a window that looked onto the redwoods.

"This is really nice," he observed, putting the textbooks down on the desk.

"Thank you. We had it fixed up for you when we knew you were coming," beamed Aronson. If there's ever anything amiss, please let me or Sharon know. As I'm sure you've experienced before, from time to time the computer system goes down and then we must resort to manual measures till the guys in the Computer Science building can get it back up."

Mulder nodded. And I know who'd be best at that, he thought.

"Now let's go to your classrooms," said the aging professor. "Here, Mulder, is your Forensic Psychology classroom," he said, indicating a lecture hall. "This room holds about 40. I believe you've got 53 on your class list, but some of them will drop out, or will be culled..."

He then led the way down a flight of stairs and out into a concrete courtyard with a sculpture of sea lions by Benjamin Bufano.

"Here is your Psych 1 lecture hall," Aronson said, at the door of an enormous cinder block building. He opened a large, heavy door and Mulder stepped into a huge hall, his footsteps echoing.

"It's rather large," he commented.

"Holds 200 students," Aronson said. "Your class size is around 150. Psychology is the most popular major on this campus."

"What's second?" Mulder asked, a bit overawed by the sheer size of the room.

"Oh, biology. And that concludes your orientation," the professor added, shaking Mulder's hand, then opening the door for him again.

"Well, thank you very much!" said Mulder, squinting against the bright light of the concrete courtyard. 

Aronson added, "If you have any questions, I mean ANY questions at all, you can ask me, or if I'm out, ask Sharon. She knows most of what I know and a good deal more."

He paused and looked at Mulder. "And Dr., I mean, Mulder, um..." He hesitated again. Mulder waited patiently.

Dr. Aronson began again, slowly, "It seems that there have been several incidents on campus in the last month. Actually, four people, three of them students, have died. Actually," he said, rubbing his beard distractedly, "they've been murdered, possibly. So we advise everyone to lock his car and to not be out on campus alone. Three of the victims were women, but one was a man about your stature, Mulder. So we all need to take care. And now, I understand there's been another victim."

Mulder asked, "any of them your students?"

"Yes, two of them were, the man and the second female victim." 

*************************************************

Mulder had a lot of time to kill, so he tooled around campus, looking at the eight little "colleges" or minicampuses within the main one. He got out at Sesnon College, admiring the view of the Pacific it afforded. Walking back to his car, he encountered Sharon Green, carrying a portfolio.

"You walk fast," he observed. 

She smiled. "I drove, and since I'm staff, I get to park in the spaces up here."

"What's the portfolio about? Are you an artist?"

"Why yes, I am. These are for my printmaking class." She placed the portfolio carefully on a bench.

"So you're a secretary and a student?"

"Grad student," she remarked, taking out a pack of Kools and shaking out a cigarette. "Smoke?" she asked.

"No, I don't smoke," said Mulder. "What're you a grad student in? Art?"

"No, History of Consciousness and biochemistry, double major. Separate dissertations. I do art as a sideline." She lit her cigarette.

"May I take a look?" he asked.

"Sure!" she said, placing the cigarette down on the bench. She opened up the portfolio.

Mulder looked through her stuff with interest. The images were rather Munchian in their intensity and mastery of the print medium. "Damn!" he said.

"Like 'em? Not many people do!" she said, with a wry smile.

"I think they're beautiful. Fantastic!" he said sincerely. "They remind me a bit of my life!"

She smiled, a big grin showing off her white teeth. "You're too much, Dr. Mulder!" She closed the portfolio and took up her lit cigarette.

Mulder turned to her. "Are you as bright as they say?" he asked.

"Brighter!" She said, smiling. "There's a good deal up here," she pointed to her head, "that no IQ test can ever measure! By the way," she said, her voice low, "thought I'd tell you. I know, knew all the people who died. And I think I know how."

Mulder looked at her speculatively. "How?"

"Can't tell you," she said, drawing on her cigarette. "Not now. It'll have to wait till I have time to get together with you and the other FBI agents you're working with."

Mulder felt his blood turn to ice water. "Wh-what? How?" He stammered.

"It's cool," she said smoothly, blowing smoke. "Hey, the way I know things? Largely intuition. Really amazing intuition. Don't worry, I will never blow your cover! I know how important your work here is! And believe me, Mulder, no one else will ever know."

"You have special powers?" he finally asked.

She looked troubled. "Yes, I guess that's what they are," she said. She picked up her portfolio to go.

"I'll call you, Mulder. Soon." She promised.

He nodded. "OK. Really soon, I hope," he said.

"Yes."

Watching Sharon leave, Mulder idly thought, if I were straight, I could really go for her. Brains and beauty, all that.

He glanced at his watch. 1:45 - time to meet Alex Krycek! He walked to his car and got his map. 1013 Pacific. Hmm. Driving down the hill, his car stereo up full blast and playing a Jeff Buckley tape, picking up his cell phone, he punched the speed dial.

"Scully." She tersely.

"Scully, where are you?"

"I'm at home. Where are YOU?"

"Still on campus, doing this and that," he lied.

"Think you'll be home for dinner?"

"Yeah. Now, Scully the reason I called you -" He'd come to a traffic light, and he put on his left turn signal.

"Mm-hmm?"

"It's complicated. I met this young woman who knew who I was. She also knew of the existence of you and White."

Silence.

"Scully?"

"I'm here. How could this happen, Mulder? We've been way more than careful!"

"Maybe I look like an FBI agent."

"Why? Your Armani suit?"

"Maybe. But she also knew about you."

"Mulder. This is not good. I'll tell White."

"She wants to meet with you and White."

"Why, Mulder? Is she trying to blackmail us?"

"Oh no, I don't think it's that at all. She said she knew the people who were murdered, and she think she knows how, and she wants to help us out."

"Did she know all the people who were killed, Mulder?"

"Oh, no. It's not like that either. She's not a killer, Scully."

"Why do you say that? Is she pretty, Mulder?"

"Not so I'd notice. I have a good feeling about her, that's all."

"When did she say she wanted to meet with us?"

"She said she'd call. I can reach her, though, Scully, just by dialing the Psych Department. She works in the Department Head office."

"Well, OK. See you later, Mulder."

Mulder hung up. He was on Pacific and fast approaching the Garden Mall. He found a space and fed eight quarters into the meter. Two hours' worth; that should be plenty. He found the Starbucks with no difficulty, and there out in front sat Alex Krycek.

"Hey, Alex!"

"Hey, Mulder," Krycek said, rising to his feet. "Let's go order!"

Mulder ordered a mocha cappuccino, and Krycek, an Italian soda, mixed cherry and Orgeat syrups.

They found another table outside. "So how's the psych department?" Krycek asked, sipping his soda.

"Oh, fine," said Mulder nonchalantly, stirring his mochaccino. "The department head is very nice." He didn't mention anything about the very nice secretary. He had the irrational thought that Krycek shouldn't even know she existed.

"What is it you do, Alex?" asked Mulder.

Krycek stared off into the distance. "I'm kind of ...independent," he said quietly. "I just oversee several properties, stuff like that." And suck dick on command, he thought bitterly.

"Well, that's great, Alex. I wish I had that much money. This is great people-watching," enthused Mulder.

"Yes, it is, isn't it? Such a variety of people on the Mall!"

They watched for a long moment as a gorgeous tall, slim young man stopped and looked at them both, up and down. Then he left, swallowed by the horde of tourists.

"He looks familiar," mused Mulder, but Krycek was gripping the arm of his seat. "Do you know him?" asked Mulder, puzzled.

"No...No!" said Krycek firmly. But Mulder had seen, at first, a faint nod. What's going on here? Mulder asked himself. Krycek seemed to retreat into himself for a moment. He put his hand in his face.

Then he pulled his Ray-Bans out of his leather jacket and put them on.

"Let's go, Mulder," he said huskily. "Where's your car."

"Uh... it's in a metered space, right over there. That blue Ford."

"Oh, yeah, I see it. We'll get it parked in the structure. You can't leave it here," he said easily.

"OK."

The transfer of his car to the garage, and he and Krycek to Krycek's black Porsche, took place within three minutes.

"We'll drive up the coast," said Krycek.

"Oh, I went up there already," said Mulder. "But I can stand going again," he said quickly, not wanting to hurt the man's feelings.

Krycek smiled and said, "I have properties up there I'd like to check on."

"Really? Rental properties? That's interesting. Where are they?"

"Well, one's actually south of here, in Capitola; we could go there afterward, if you're not burned out and sick of me, and the others are in Pescadero, Boulder Creek and Soquel. I live mostly in the Soquel house. You'd like it."

"Soquel is south of here too, right?"

"Yeah," he said.

*************************************************

Scully had had a fairly uneventful day. She went back to the morgue to continue her investigations, and found that the poor girl in drawer 11 had died of interstitial coagulation, and death appeared to have happened slowly, as one leg was gangrenous. Scully felt sorrow and rage at the world, and especially at the murderer of the young woman. 

She felt sure that the killing agent was some kind of exotic fungus. She'd have the girl's stomach contents analyzed; she'd made skin scrapings, tongue and mouth scrapings and even had hair samples sent in; the poisoning could have happened so gradually that there would be traces of the element(s) in the young woman's hair.

Then there was the matter of the substance under the girl's fingernails: not skin, not blood, not fabric, not hair - Scully didn't know what it was. She'd sent it in to be analyzed, hoping the lab could come up with something.

With the help of a Hebrew-English dictionary, she translated the words welted into the girl's skin: Death to unbelievers. Oh, now, that was original. Still, the words gave her a chill. The red welts should have faded by now into the bluish hue of death. There was also a pentagram, such as witches drew. She noted that it was upside-down.

Scully made a stop at the Cowell Student Health Center on campus for an orientation. She would work one morning and would be on an on-call basis one day a week. She made note of the fairly comprehensive lab and admired the view from the infirmary.

She turned in at 3:00 in the afternoon, when she met White at the house. "This lasagna is fairly labor-intensive," he observed, "but we still have time for a quickie." They did it with Scully on the coffee table, sliding up and down over the slick wood, White coming into her with even more than usual gusto, yelling with abandon. Seeing his orgasm, Scully came, arching her back into it and moaning.

"One of these days, you will be pregnant, you know, and I'll be so happy," he said softy, helping her up. She embraced him. "If it happens, it happens," she murmured.

*************************************************

Krycek drove down Highway One at a good clip. Once, Mulder stole a peek at the speedometer: 85 mph. He vowed not to look again.

"There are no cops on this road," remarked Krycek, as if reading Mulder's thoughts.

"OK."

They drove past a lot of very beautiful country: beaches, ocean and peaceful-looking farmlands. Right before they got to Pescadero State Beach, Krycek turned to the left and went down a winding driveway to a weathered-redwood house.

"We're home," he said.

"Oh. Wow, this is really nice," Mulder observed. "It's hidden from the highway."

"Yes, and has its own private beach," Krycek said. "Come on in!"

He unlocked the door and they went in. Inside, there was a mural, covering four walls, of the ocean.

"That's beautiful," Mulder breathed.

"Wait'll you see the bedroom. Don't worry, I'm not going to try jumping your bones. At least, not yet," he said, looking back at Mulder.

"Oh. Oh, I didn't think you were," Mulder said.

"Anyway," said Krycek. "This is the bedroom. Look!" he flung open the door, and Mulder gasped.

The whole back wall of the vast room was a stained glass window, 30 by 15 feet, transparent enough in places to afford an ocean view, opaque enough that a picture could be discerned, a beautiful countryside with mountains, fields and horses.

"Oh my God, that's beautiful!" exclaimed Mulder. "I've never seen anything like it!"

"It had to be put up in sections," remarked Krycek. "The artist did this in winter, so we had to use plastic tarps and even they didn't keep the weather out. The floor warped so we had to put in another."

Mulder said, "How much did all this cost?"

Krycek said, "Oh, the window was around $100 K. The floor, who knows? I don't remember."

Mulder whistled. "100 K, huh. Wow!" He was thinking; you have money, Mr. Man!

They sat down on a loveseat upholstered with tones complementing the window.

"Do you remember that scene?" Krycek asked suddenly and unexpectedly.

"What scene?"

"The one on the window, Mulder. It's a real place. Do you remember it?"

Mulder looked at him, confused. "No. Why should I?"

Krycek shook his head. "It's not important."

"Yes, it sounds like it is important. How come I can't remember?" he asked plaintively.

Krycek took his hand. "Forget it! I'm sorry I said anything."

Mulder looked at him with confusion, looked at the window. A memory of riding horses like the wind across that valley floated into then out of consciousness.

"Oh...it seemed I got something for a minute," he said doubtfully. "Just like a ghost, a scrap of memory. I rode a horse in there." He pointed to the window. Krycek looked at him and his deep emerald eyes seem to flame in afternoon light. "Lisitsa," he said.

Mulder shook his head. "I don't remember that one: lisitsa. That some kind of foreign word?"

"Yes, it is Russian," Krycek said softly. 

"What does it mean?"

"It means nothing." Said Krycek.

"OK," said Mulder.

Before he knew it, he was looking into those beryl eyes from close range, then there was a touch of skin, smooth then rough, then Krycek's lips touching his, his tongue exploring Mulder's mouth. Mulder kissed him back.

Then he pulled back a little. "I've never been with a man before," he said, trembling.

"Then I won't rush you, lisa," Krycek said huskily. "Just the kiss. That is all for now."

They drew apart. "I'll show you the rest of the house," said Krycek. "C'mon. See, here is the second bedroom, this the third. Each bedroom has its own bath, plus there's an extra one. You saw the living room. That rug is from Iran; it's antique and it cost the Earth. Here's the kitchen, hardwood floor and tile, yada yada."

"Want to go out to the beach?" he asked. Mulder nodded assent. "Here's some shorts to change into. Or, if you want, you can use a swimsuit. I remember that you favor red Speedos," he said, tossing him one. "It's new, off the rack!" Mulder laughed, then he remembered what he was laughing about.

"You 'remember' that I wear red Speedos? How do you-OH!" He said. "You used to work with me! You used to be my partner!" he shouted. "Hey, I remember that! Oh my God! Oh, my God! It's you they wiped from my memory! It's YOU!"

Krycek looked at him. "Yes. That's true, Mulder. Can you remember anything else about me?"

Mulder shook his head. "No. I just have that memory and nothing more."

"Well, it's a good start!"

"I hope so!" said Mulder, shaking his head.

*************************************************

Scully and White had gotten a handle on the lasagna by the time Mulder arrived. 

"Hey, Mulder! How's it going?" asked White.

Mulder looked at White. "I hate you," he said.

White looked at him, puzzled. "Why do you hate me, Mulder?"

"I hate you because you were responsible for wiping my memory, and I hate you for shooting someone, I can't remember whom."

There was a sharp gasp from Scully. "Mulder." She said, shakily. "The memories had to go. You were psychotic. And as for the shooting, it didn't happen, so forget it."

She turned back to her task, layering lasagna. 

"Why don't I believe you, Scully," he asked in a soft voice.

She looked up at him, and there were tears on her face. "Mulder, you were pathetic. You had to have help. Otherwise, you would have committed suicide. Please believe me!"

He looked at her skeptically. "OK," he said, "I didn't mean to make you so upset."

"Yes, you did," said White quietly.

"Hey!" said Mulder. "I don't want to hate you! I think you're a nice guy! I think I'm all screwed up," he said, lamely. "Hey, Scully, I called that doctor," he lied, brightly.

She smiled a little. "Oh, did you? She asked. "Did you make an appointment, Mulder?"

"Um, yes," he said, compounding the lie. "I wrote it down on a card upstairs."

"Oh, that's wonderful, Mulder! Thank you for following through!" and she hugged him. 

"You're welcome!" he said, feeling traitorous. He must, repeat must call that doctor and make an appointment before it slipped his mind.

"There!" Scully said, putting the heavy lasagna pan into the oven. "Mulder, think you could make a salad? We make some great balsamic vinaigrette to put on it!"

He poked his head into the fridge. "Uh, what's involved? Cutting lettuce?"

"Yes, and tomatoes," said White. "Put some of those artichoke hearts in it, and chop up some scallions, and slice some of those black olives into it, and it'll be done, OK?"

"Hokay!" said Mulder, taking up his tasks.

They had a delicious dinner, but it was interrupted halfway through by a call. "I'll get it," Mulder cried, jumping up from the table so fast he upset a glass of wine. "Oh-sorry, guys!"

He answered the phone. "Hello? Oh, hi there! How are you doing? Yes, kind of ... Do you? Um, let me confer with them..." He held his hand over the phone.

"Guys?" They fell silent and looked a question. "There's that girl on the line...Sharon Green...she's the Psychology Department secretary...she wants to meet with us, all of us, tomorrow evening if we can make it. Can we make it?"

"She's the one who claims to know something about the murders," Scully said slowly. "Do you think we should meet with her, David?"

He shrugged, forking some lasagna to his mouth. "Could be worthwhile. I don't like that our security's been breached, though. Tell her - here, let me have the phone."

"Hello? Yes, this is David White. How did you know my name, Ms. Green? And Dr. Scully's?"

"I just know things, sometimes," she answered. "It's a type of intuition. Can you meet with me sometime in the next week? I will come to your home. On Steamer's, right? How about Wednesday, if tomorrow doesn't work?"

White found himself agreeing to the meeting, shaking his head. He hung up the phone and turned to Mulder. "Mulder," he said, sternly.

"What?" asked Mulder innocently. 

"What have you been telling this woman, a perfect stranger, about us?"

Mulder spread his hands, plopping down in his chair. "Nothing, absolutely nothing! She divined it all herself!"

White looked at him. "It may be true," he said at last. "Was she very good-looking, Mulder?"

"Oh, and you mean, perhaps you lost your head over her, Mulder?" he asked, feeling irritation rise. "It wasn't like that. Not at all. Yes, she is very pretty, and NO, that had nothing to do with it! Listen, she's some kind of psychic or witch or something. She just knew without being told."

Scully looked at him doubtfully. "If you say so," she said, ever the skeptic. "Do you really want to meet with her, David? She may be psychotic or something."

He shook his head. "Look, anything that might shed some light on this case, I'll go for."

"OK, then," she said, looking over at Mulder. "It's settled. We all meet with her on Wednesday at -- what time, Dave?"

"At eight-ish," he said. "Is that salad ready, Mulder?"

"Oh..no...I got sidetracked."

*************************************************

Although school started in two weeks, on Tuesday Mulder made the five-mile trip up to campus to get the books he'd left in his office. Well, that was his official excuse. He knew he really wanted to talk to the intriguing Ms. Green.

She was there in the little Psych Department anteroom, keyboarding away. "Good morning, Dr. Mulder," she said formally.

"Oh, please, just Mulder!" he said. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Fire away," she said, smiling.

"Are you a real psychic? And are you a witch or something?"

She laughed and laid a finger on her lips. "Both, actually," she said in a low voice. "I'm a hereditary witch and I was born with these psychic powers. But hush! Here comes Elliott!"

Dr. Aronson had chosen that moment to come ambling along. "Mulder! Hey! Aren't you a little early? School doesn't start until September 14."

"Just thought I'd get a jump on things," said Mulder.

Aronson rolled his eyes. As do half the men on campus, he thought, but he said nothing. "Like to see that kind of enthusiasm in our young staff!" he exclaimed, and clapped Mulder on the back.

He walked to his office, humming.

"Oh, brother!" murmured Sharon. "Look, Mulder, just wait till Wednesday, OK? All will be revealed, and all that."

Before Mulder took off down the hill he pulled out his cell phone and punched the number of Dr. Bayer.

"I'll get him right away!" his secretary said.

"Dr. Mulder?" the shrink asked in rather a slow and sleepy voice. "I have an opening in one hour. Can you make it?"

"Sure, I guess so. Sure."

"Great! Betty will give you directions."

The office was in Aptos, a few miles past Soquel. Mulder took the wrong exit and had to double back. The doctor's shingle was hung prominently, and Mulder had no further troubles finding the office. He arrived breathlessly, five minutes late.

"Sorry!" he exclaimed to the admin. "I didn't judge the time correctly!"

She smiled at him. She was a young woman in her twenties, Mulder judged, with tight brown curls, wearing, of course, jeans and a T-shirt. "Have a seat," she said, "the doctor will be right with you!"

He sat and immediately the office door opened. "Dr. Mulder? I'm Dr. Bayer," said a dark man of medium build.

"Have a seat. Now, first we can begin by your telling me why you are here."

Mulder shrugged. "I'm here at the request of my partner, Dr. Scully." His eyes roamed around the office, taking in bookshelves, an antique-looking globe, a Persian carpet. Typical psychiatrist's office, he surmised. Certainly nicer than that ... PLACE ...where they shot him full of Pentothal every morning!

"Were you having any symptoms that were bothering you?"

"Nope. But they were certainly bothering Scully and White!" 

"Why don't you explain?"

Mulder sighed. "I'm not sure. They are freaked-out that I might be gay, for example. I don't really know, beyond that. I can't remember. They think I'm crazy, I guess. I went to this hospital in Cedar City, Utah, where they took away my memory by way of deprogramming."

"I see", the doctor said sympathetically. "Why were you being deprogrammed? Had you fallen prey to some religious cult or anything like that?"

"They told me that I'd been kidnapped and held hostage."

"Can you describe your captor?" asked the doctor

"I...I don't remember.." he said. "He was tall, maybe, beyond that I can't remember." He spread his hands in a gesture of defeat.

"I see." The doctor tapped his pencil on his lips, considering. Then he wrote, quickly, "PTSD with secondary anxiety reaction."

"Now, Dr. Mulder," he said, "I'm going to write some prescriptions for you. They'll make you feel better." He wrote rapidly, tore off three sheets from his script pad. "Here!"

Mulder looked at the prescriptions. "I recognize these," he said, looking at Dr. Bayer. "Klonopin. For anxiety. Zyprexa, an antipsychotic. I'm not crazy, Dr. Bayer. Lastly I see lithium. What for? I'm not bipolar." he said, puzzled. 

"The Zyprexa acts on anxiety," the doctor said quickly. "The Klonopin is for anxiety, as you surmised, and the lithium acts to potentiate the others. I can get references for you if you'd like to look it up in the PDR, or online. And, Dr. Mulder, you should take all three drugs. They work synergistically." 

Mulder left shaking his head, with the prescriptions in his jacket pocket. He'd just run them by Scully.

He was in the parking lot unlocking his Taurus when a thought occurred to him and he punched a number into his cell phone. "Krycek," the husky voice answered, and Mulder felt a shiver race up and down his spine.

"Alex? This is Mulder."

There was a sharp intake of breath then, "Oh, Mulder, what are you up to?"

"I'm sort of..." Looking around at the office building, "sort of maybe in the neighborhood, at least I'm south of Santa Cruz, and I thought you and I...we could get together, maybe?" he said hopefully.

"Where are you?"

"On Soquel Drive near the overpass. 1100 Soquel Drive."

"Then you're not far from me. Let me give you directions to my place..."

Mulder scribbled in a tiny calendar he'd been given at the doctor's office. "OK, up South Valley Drive, left on Lamb Hill. I think I've got it."

"Great! Look forward to seeing you! See ya when you get here!"

On the drive up, Mulder passed orchards and farmlands, not seeing another house until he came to 1013 Lamb Hill Road. He paused for a moment at the driveway -- it was very steep -- then drove downward. The garage door opened as if by magic, and he drove in. Krycek was there to meet him on the steps to the house door.

"Mulder!" Krycek exclaimed, "You made it!"

"Yeah! Hey, nice spread you've got here. Like your others," he said, shaking his head.

"Mulder, come in," Krycek said, and pressed a goblet of pinkish wine into his hand. "A nice vintage Pinot Noir," he remarked, showing the way in.

This house rivaled the beach house, Mulder marveled. There were stained glass panels in every window, Hepplewhite chests at either end of the room, Chippendale chairs, skylights, a picture window in the living room and one in the dining room, chandeliers, Oriental carpets, original Picasso lithographs, candles burning everywhere... "Wow!" Said Mulder, impressed. You must have money, he thought again.

Krycek motioned him to the comfortable leather furniture.

"What's the haps, Professor?" he asked.

""Um...just getting ready for my classes and all," he said. "You know, routine stuff. And I had to see a doctor this morning. Psychiatrist. Gave me this," and he handed Krycek the prescriptions. 

Krycek frowned. "This is all bullshit, Mulder. You don't need any of these. With the exception of the Klonopin. I'll take that if you don't want it?" Mulder nodded and Krycek stuffed it in the side pocket of his jacket.

"What do you think, about their treating you like an infant?" Krycek asked, a slight frown furrowing his brow.

"Well, I pretended to take the meds the doctor in Cottonwood Lanes gave me, then I just told Scully I wasn't taking 'em. No, I don't like it at all, but what else can I do? I have very large memory deficits. I'll probably never get those memories back."

"Never say never. You remember about our working together, don't you? Perhaps there's something else. Come over here on the couch, Mulder. I won't bite. Unless you want me to," Krycek said, grinning in a flash of white.

Mulder sat down next to Krycek, who put his glass down. "Here, let me take that! Now!" he took Mulder's face in his hand and kissed him, long and lingeringly, his tongue exploring the back reaches of Mulder's mouth. "Do you remember that?" he asked, pulling away.

Mulder shook his head. "It's incredibly sexy," he said, but I can't say I remember it." He did, however, have an enormous throbbing erection.

Krycek took Mulder's hand in his to feel his own erection. Then he pulled Mulder closer, looking into Mulder's blue-green eyes with his own large ones, fringed with thick black lashes.

Mulder said, "I don't know how to make love to a man."

"I can teach you if you'd like, lisitsa."

Mulder smiled at him. "There's that word again. What does it mean?"

"Nothing, darling," said Krycek, and kissed him. He kissed Mulder's lips, his face, the tip of his nose, his chin, his throat. He undid his shirt buttons and kissed the chest that was exposed with each unbuttoning. Mulder gasped and moaned. "Ah..God," he groaned, as Krycek's lips sank lower. Krycek unsnapped and unzipped his jeans, pulled out his cock and took Mulder in his mouth.

"Ah!" Mulder moaned, and began to fuck Krycek's mouth. Krycek matched his rhythms with his own, sucking from base to tip, tonguing the head, licking up and down the shaft.

"Oh, Alex!" Mulder cried, and came in great shuddering convulsions, shooting come down Krycek's throat.

Krycek sat up and kissed Mulder, deeply. Mulder could taste himself, bitter/salty, in Krycek's mouth.

"Now," said Krycek, "my turn! Take off your pants, Mulder!" Mulder did as he was told. "Now, here!" Krycek said, "let me slide these pillows up under your butt...OK."

Krycek unzipped and smeared his achingly hard cock with lube, pulled out of a back pocket. He lubed up two fingers, first placing one inside of Mulder.

"God!" Mulder gasped.

"How does that feel?"

"Feels great! Fuck me, Alex!"

Krycek chuckled. "That can be arranged." After he'd placed two fingers inside Mulder and wiggled them around to stretch him, he withdrew the fingers and put his cock head up against the tender ring. "Here we go," he said, and thrust deep into Mulder.

"Oh, Alex, fuck me, fuck me!" Mulder gasped.

Leaning over Mulder and kissing him, Krycek thrust in ever-increasing tempo until he felt ready to come. Incredibly, he noted, Mulder was hard again. "I'm coming, Mulder," he said flatly, and shot hot come into Mulder's heat. Excited by the friction of their bodies, Mulder came again, spurting against Krycek's belly and yelling out his name.

They pulled apart and lay on the sofa. "We made love," Mulder said in wonder. "I am gay, then, yes?"

"Yes, Mulder, you are."

"And I'm not attracted to women."

Krycek laughed, touching Mulder's face. "You tell me!"

"There's this chick, I mean young woman, at the office...the Psych Department office... She's gorgeous and I think she likes me. Sharon Green," he said musingly.

"Sharon Green!" Alex said, startled.

Mulder looked up at him. "You know her?"

"I...yes, I do." Krycek shook his head. "Small world, I guess. The thing about Santa Cruz, Mulder? Is that ... everyone knows everybody else."

Mulder smiled. "Where do you know her from?"

Krycek tucked a foot under his butt. "I'm investigating this...religion she's into."

Mulder felt a stab of jealousy. "Oh, what is it?"

Krycek looked at him, considering. "It's wicca, Mulder. The Church of Wicca."

Mulder looked at him wide-eyed. "You're into that? Into witchcraft and all that?"

Krycek laughed. "Well, I'm not INTO it, Mulder. I'm just investigating it."

"Oh." Then, "Alex, did we used to do this?"

"This?" Krycek handed Mulder's glass back to him and retrieved his own. After a long pull at the wine, he answered. "Yes. Yes to the lovemaking and yes to the talking, whichever it was you meant. Hey, Mulder, want to hear some tunes?" He fiddled with the enormous stereo and the first strains of Vivaldi's "The Four Seasons" played.

"Hey, I used to like this, Alex! I remember liking this!"

"You can have this CD if you want," Krycek said, generously offering the Old Man's prized recording. Let him think I lost it or something, Krycek thought.

"Oh, no, I couldn't. But we could go CD shopping or something," he offered hopefully.

Krycek squatted in front of the stereo. "Sure, why not?" asked carelessly, turning it to Off.

"I didn't mean...I mean, I'm sorry...it was just a ..."

Krycek padded pantherlike over to the couch and stopped Mulder's protests with a kiss. "Get dressed, then we can go! When we get back, Mulder, it's to the showers we go!"

For some reason Mulder went very weak in the knees. "OK," he said.

On the way down to Soquel in Krycek's Porsche, Mulder observed, "You're so far from a regular grocery store, how do you manage to get all your gourmet goodies? Do you have servants?"

Krycek laughed. I AM servants, he thought. "I use WebVan. It works very well."

"Even all the way out here?"

"I pay a bit of a premium for premium service, but that's fine."

Krycek pulled into a little music store off Soquel Drive. "Starlight Music," the sign read. "Wait'll you see this store! It's a trip!" He said.

The store was got up as if for Halloween, with plastic spider webs everywhere and clerks dressed in black, some with black and white makeup. "They're Goths, Mulder. I'm sure you've got 'em," Krycek remarked, pulling Mulder away from the gorgeous young man he was admiring. The boy, with bleached-blond curls, was in heavy makeup which enhanced the inherent sensuality of his face.

"Here's your Vivaldi, Mulder, pay attention. Here's your Four Seasons, and this is a good recording, would you stop looking at him, Mulder?"

"Oh." said Mulder. There was something about the young blond man...

He continued to look at him through the selection process and the checkout line. Krycek paid for his selections with a credit card and chatted briefly with the clerk. She had dyed-black hair with purple highlights and an interesting tattoo. "What is that?" Krycek asked, pointing to the tattoo. "Inverted pentagram," the girl lisped, through numerous tongue and lip piercings.

"What does it mean?" he asked, turning his 100-watt smile on the young woman. 

"It's a sign of the Left Hand Path," she said solemnly. "Here's a brochure," she said, reaching under the counter. Krycek shot a glance at Mulder. Damned if he wasn't talking with that blond clerk. The girl placed the brochure on the counter and indicated with a black nail an address and phone number. "If you call this number, they'll tell you where to find a nearby service," she said. 

"Thank you!" he said warmly, smiling. "May I borrow a pen?"

He tore off a corner of the brochure and jotted something down rapidly. Leaving the pen on the counter, he went to join Mulder, and as he did so, he crushed the slip into a ball and tossed it on the blond man's counter.

"What was that?" Asked Mulder.

"Just a warning, to leave my man alone!" Krycek said, putting his arm through Mulder's. "Now let's get some Chinese takeout and hit the showers!"

At Starlight Music, the blond man unwrapped the ball of paper and smoothed it out. "I'm on to you" it read.

They found a Szechuan restaurant and purchased several cartons of take-out. With the food steaming in the back seat and fragrancing the car, they spoke desultorily of this and that. "Alex, after we shower, then I have no clean clothes to change into. I was going to ask you."

"Yes, you may use some of mine. Hell, you can have 'em. I'll get you all new things."

They drove down the steep drive and parked. "I'll do the garage thing later." remarked Krycek lazily. "There's no crime up here."

They ate Chinese and drank Chardonnay listening to Mulder's Jeff Buckley tape. "He sounds very sad," said Krycek, forking garlic pork.

"Oh, he probably had some sort of depressive disorder," said Mulder, chopsticking rice. "He killed himself."

"God that's awful. Pass the lemon chicken, eh, Mulder? How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Eat rice that way. With chopsticks. It'll take you a year to get through a bowl of rice."

Mulder laughed. "Well, that's sort of the point. Dietary aid, and all that."

Krycek laughed. "You hardly need to go on a diet!"

Mulder waved his chopsticks. "If I eat enough of this, I will!"

Afterward they retired to the showers. The master bedroom, where Krycek slept with the Old Man (he thought distastefully), had a set of walk-in showers as well as a sunken jacuzzi. Krycek left the room and returned carrying two fluffy cotton terry bathrobes, which he placed on a bench.

"OK, here we go," he said, and stripped. Mulder did likewise. Krycek came to him with his eyes blazing. "Lisitsa," he said, put his arm around Mulder and kissed him. Then he moved to the shower and turned the water on full blast, adjusting the temperature. "Do you like it hot, Mulder," he asked archly.

"I like it very hot," Mulder breathed. "Come here, Alex!" They stood in the shower a long moment, kissing and caressing. Krycek broke away long enough to pour shower gel on a scrubby and lather it. Then he gooped the lather on Mulder, rubbing him gently all over.

"That feels so good!" Mulder said. "Here, rub it here, Alex!" and he indicated his cock.

"I'm coming to that!" Krycek said. He rubbed Mulder's groin, the insides of his thighs, till Mulder was practically screaming. Then gently, very gently he stroked his cock with the soft scrubby. "Feel up to fucking me, Mulder?" Krycek asked.

"Yes. Up against the wall, Alex!"

Krycek turned his face to the wall, feeling the hot water course down his back. His cock and balls rubbed a bit against the rough tile. Mulder worked a finger in, then two. Krycek groaned and shifted. "Harder...Fuck me, Mulder!"

Mulder withdrew his fingers long enough to place his cockhead against the tight bud, then pushed it firmly in. Krycek gasped and writhed. "Oh, God, Mulder!"

Mulder put an arm around Krycek at the hips and grasped his cock, stroking it. "Harder!" Krycek commanded, and Mulder obliged, thrusting hard. He came, spurting seminal fluid into Krycek's heat and almost blacking out, and almost at the same instant Krycek came, shooting come onto the tile wall.

They finished the shower actually getting clean. When Mulder got out of the shower, he found that Krycek had already set out his clothes: jeans, T-shirt, cotton button-down shirt, belt, socks and underwear. "This is silk," he said, picking up the colorful boxers.

"Um-huh. That's the only kind I get," remarked Krycek, getting dressed. Then he asked in a different tone of voice: "Do you remember?"

Mulder looked at him, bemused. "Do I remember silk boxers?

Krycek shook his head. "It doesn't matter. And now, Mulder, it's about time for you to be toddling off to Scully and White's, eh? Otherwise they'll send out a search party for you."

"Oh..OK...I thought we were just getting started," Mulder lamented.

"Ah, but we were! Tomorrow, 12 noon, my place!"

"OK! You got it! Will it be Chinese or Japanese?"

"Mulder, it'll be better. It'll be Russian!"

When Mulder finally turned into the driveway at 13 Steamer's Lane, he was tired, but his mind was buzzing. Dusk was falling and the fog was rolling in. Maybe ee cummings said it came in on little cat feet, but Mulder thought this fog was more like panther paws.

Scully met him at the door. "Mulder! We've been so worried about you! Where've you been? Why didn't you call?"

He hugged her. "It's OK, Scully. I had an appointment with the shrink then I just sort of went...driving around."

"Oh...well, next time you drive around, give me a call first, OK? Then I won't worry so much...It's Mulder! He's back and everything's OK!" to White.

Mulder walked into the house and took a seat in front of the TV. "How about those Giants?" he remarked conversationally to White.

Scully called from the kitchen, "We just had pizza -- there's plenty left -- want some?"

"Uh, no." He called back. "We..I had Chinese."

She came into the livingroom, brimming with curiosity. "'We'?" "What's this 'we', Mulder?"

"Um, just some floozy I picked up in Soquel," he said briefly. "No big deal."

"Oh? Is she nice? Is she pretty?"

"Uh...this person...is extremely nice, and knock-dead gorgeous."

"Did you get her number?" White asked.

Scully came forward to slap him with her dishtowel. "Ow!"

"Just watch it, Mr.!"

"Sheesh! Are you jealous or what?"

"Jealous, and what!" She moved to embrace him. He bent down and whispered something in her ear that started her giggling.

"What're you doing tomorrow, Mulder? You know, you'd better go over your texts one of these times, and prepare some lesson plans."

"Yes, Mom." She came over to him.

"Am I a nag?" she asked softly. "Because I don't mean to be. Mulder?"

"Yas'm!"

"Mulder, seriously, I got another call today. I did an autopsy on another victim."

"Did he or she fit the profile?"

She frowned. "Yes, she did. Interstitial coagulation, red welts forming a Hebrew phrase, and an inverted pentagram."

"Did you translate it?"

"Yes, I did. It translated to 'death to Sharon.'"

*************************************************

After Mulder left, Krycek picked up the hall phone and punched a number. "Starlight Music," a woman answered. 

"May I please speak to Dan West," he said, keeping his voice neutral.

"Dan...uh...he's gone for the evening."

"May I please have his home phone number? This is his friend Eric, and for some reason I lost it."

"Sure, Eric, here it is: 426-4455."

"Thank you!" he said, hung up and immediately dialed the home number.

"Hello?" came a tentative voice.

"You. Daniel. Yes, you know who this is. You know how good I am with a knife. If you persist in dogging me, I shall have to cut you up into little ribbons."

There was a squeak at the other end of the line. "A-Alex?"

"You know who it is. Now, just cut it out, you understand?"

"Uh huh. OK. P-please don't hurt my d-dog, Alex!"

"I can and will hurt your dog if you don't comply! I want you out of S'Cruz and I want you out now. Now, are we on the same page here?"

"Y-Yes, Alex," the boy said helplessly.

"So get out. Now." Krycek put the phone down and hummed a little Handel to himself. He had no doubt that things would proceed according to plan.

Then he made a call to the folks in the brochure.

*************************************************

Sharon Green, graduate student in two fields and secretary in a third, had an apartment in Married Student Housing on campus. She was not married, but she had been, and she kept the apartment when Jason moved out.

After fixing herself an avocado and sprout sandwich on rye, she did her yoga exercises. She was a student of Kundalini yoga, that ancient art involving asanas -- positions -- and pranayamas --breathing exercises. During the Breath of Fire, her phone rang. I'll let it go to voicemail, she thought, then picked it up on impulse.

"Green," she said tersely.

"Sharon? This is Alex. I wanted to ask you a question."

"Ask away," she sighed, unfolding herself from her half-lotus position.

"I picked up this brochure from a woman with an inverted pentagram," he began.

She gasped. "Yes?"

"Tattooed on her hand. She said it represented the Left-Hand Way, and I got a brochure from her. I called the number on the brochure, and I got a talkative man who said they were...basically..Satanists."

"Yes," she said. Her voice came out in a hiss.

"You do know something about them?"

She drew a deep breath. "I know enough to know that they're a great and ancient evil. Do not go near them!"

"Sharon, do they have anything to do with these murders?"

"Well, yes and no. They are the VICTIMS of these murders, OK? They're not committing them."

"Do you know who's committing them?"

"Yes, I do, but Alex, I am not at liberty to say!" Sharon's voice was high, alarmed. "Oh, Lexy, you must stay away from them! They are death and worse! Now I must go!"

She hung up the phone and slumped forward. Innocent (or was he?) baby-faced Alex Krycek could not know, must not know the full extent of the danger. Well, she couldn't be forever all her brothers' keepers. She had to learn to let people make their own mistakes. That had been part of the problem with Jason: She always knew what was best for him.

She stood up and stretched, then arranged herself in a half-lotus asana and again began the breath of fire.

*************************************************

The fog had crept in and it was decidedly chilly. Scully put another log on the fire. She was staying up late going through medical reports. Toxicology scans on all these bodies had come up negative. She didn't know where else to turn, unless this "Sharon Green" had a clue. Scully leaned back and stretched.

There was a creak on the stairs, and White walked downstairs, wearing his jammies. "Oh, cute!" she observed.

"Are you ever coming to bed?" he asked, running a hand through his hair.

"I have to go through all these tox scans one more time," she said wearily, removing her reading glasses and rubbing her eyes.

"Do you?" he breathed, and he was stroking her hair and kissing her f ace. She kissed him, and they held each other for a long moment. She could feel his erection bumping against her tummy.

"You're insatiable," she observed. "Just a minute, I'll come upstairs."

"You're right you'll come upstairs. And you'll come downstairs, too."

"But Mulder..."

"Mulder is fast asleep." He flopped into a chair. "Come here, my little pretty, and have a seat."

She sat in his lap while he stroked and petted her, pulling her sweatshirt up over her head. She stood up and pulled down her sweatpants. "Is this wise?" She asked anxiously.

"Very." he said solemnly, pulling down his pajamas. "Now sit, and fuck me!"

She did as she was asked and quickly had a fairly earth-shattering orgasm. White bit down on his finger to muffle his. She collapsed for a long moment against him, then rose.

"There'll be more upstairs, little Scully," he said. "C'mon!"

Mulder, lying sleeplessly in bed, duly and glumly noted the sounds of White's and Scully's lovemaking. He stared at the ceiling, which had been painted with fluorescent paint in the pattern of constellations. There was the Big Dipper, and oh..this was stupid. He closed his eyes and the sounds continued. Bet they'll continue it upstairs, too, he thought bitterly.

He was looking forward with eager anticipation to his appointment at Krycek's house tomorrow. It would be fun. Then he thought of the books on his nightstand, and he groaned. He rolled over and switched on the light. Might as well get started. He gingerly selected a thick volume from the stack of texts. "Overview of Psychology," it said. Geez, he was out of practice, he thought, reading the introduction. It was going to take some doing to stay even one step ahead of his eager undergrads, reputed to be among the brightest students in the land.

*************************************************

At three o'clock in the morning, Daniel West received another call. He hadn't been asleep. He'd been packing his few possessions in a couple of bags preparatory to leaving.

"H-hello," he answered tentatively.

"You're still here. I thought I told you to get out."

"Uh, A-Alex? I-I'm packing my stuff and I'm al-almost out."

"Glad to hear it. If you don't go and I find you, you're gonna wish you were never born."

A gasp. "Uh, O-OK, Alex!"

Krycek replaced the handset in its charger. The sooner the little bastard left town, the more he was going to like it. Dan West may not actually have been a spy, but it was too much of a coincidence that he had landed in this town, out of thousands.

Then he went to the medicine cabinet to get the Klonopin he'd filled today. Downing three, he thought, maybe these will help me sleep.

*************************************************

"Mulder." the voice sounded at his ear. "Mulder, wake up!"

Mulder rolled over in bed to see Scully standing over him. "Scully, I'm not dressed," he protested.

"I don't care. I've gotten another call. Another murder, Mulder. I want you to come down to the morgue with me."

Mulder groaned. "Can't White go with you?"

"He's on campus, preparing his lesson plans or something. I want you to see one of these bodies!"

"I'm not dressed."

"I can see that. Get ready! Here's a cup of cappuccino, Mulder," she said, placing a thick mug on Mulder's night table.

"Uh. Thanks. I'll be down in a minute."

Inwardly cursing, Mulder rose, grunting with the effort. He looked at his clock radio: it said 6:00. He assumed that was AM, and he confirmed this by squinting out the window. People were stirring on Steamer's Lane, and a few cars went by. Damn Scully. Couldn't she just do this herself?

Mulder rummaged around for clean clothes. Well, these things of Krycek's would do, with a fresh pair of boxers.

Scully checked him out as he descended the stairs. "That's not your shirt," she said flatly.

"Geez, Scully! What are you, the Clothing Police?"

"I'm paid to be observant," she noted. "Here, have some eggs."

"You cooked these?" he asked in surprise.

"Yeah! My first successful scramble!" she said proudly.

"Scully, you've been scrambling successfully for years," he said, and she beamed.

"Eat up, Mulder! They're expecting us."

"They?"

"AD Skinner flew in from DC with a couple more agents, and they're meeting us at the morgue."

A chunk of egg threatened to lodge itself in Mulder's trachea. "Sk-Skinner?" he asked, choking. Scully ran behind him and performed a Heimlich maneuver, and the egg popped out.

"Close call, Mulder! Take it easy, would you? Skinner doesn't want a dead agent on top of everything else!"

"Mmph," said Mulder, taking a gulp of coffee.

They drove to the morgue in silence. Skinner, thought Mulder with a sinking heart. What's he want?

The county morgue was in central Santa Cruz off River Street, next to the police station. They disembarked and, flashing badges, went in. There was a female body on a slab, and several agents gathered around it, examining the strange marks the victim had all over her.

They stood as Scully and Mulder approached. Introductions were made, and Skinner looked severely at Mulder and Scully. "After the examination, I need to talk to you two. Privately."

"Yes, Sir!" they both said. Mulder could guess what was coming, and he'd bet that Scully could, too.

"Now, would you care to enlighten us on the nature of these welts?" Skinner asked Scully.

She nodded. "All of the other victims had them, too. These are Hebrew words and they mean various things, all of them being messages of death and destruction. This," she said, skimming her hand over the corpse, "Is an inverted pentagram. Supposed to be symbolic of the Left Hand Path, Satanism, the Devil."

"Any idea who might have injured the victims in such a fashion?"

She shook her head. "They appear to be self-induced."

"And they died by this...interstitial coagulation?"

"Well, they died of various conditions brought on by the coagulation...some quickly, some slowly. All horribly, I would imagine."

Skinner shuddered. "You've been documenting all this?"

"Oh, yes," Scully said. "I've got copies of all the tapes at my house. The bodies have all been photographed and videographed, and again there are copies at my home. There was one exception," she said thoughtfully. "Yes?"

"The first victim had been buried by the time I got here. I did not see it necessary to seek an order of exhumation at the time, but I certainly will if you want me to."

"I'll take care of that," he said quickly. He nodded to the two other agents, Everson and Hernandez, and motioned Mulder and Scully outside. 

"You two," he said tersely. They looked at him.

"First, Mulder, I heard about Alex Krycek hitting on you. I'd had intelligence that he was in town here, and that bears it out. I want you to have nothing to do with him! If I hear that you have, I may take you off the case. Now, Scully: you and White carrying on -- where is White, by the way?" he asked irritably.

Just then White came running up, out of breath. "Sorry, had an urgent matter to attend to, AD Skinner," he said, nodding.

"I was just telling Scully here -- about you and her -- you'd better cut out the crap or I'll take all three of you off the case."

"AD, I don't see what our personal lives have to do with the case." Scully said steadily.

"They do. You fall in love, you get sloppy. Something escapes your notice. People die," Skinner said. "For example, if you'd been conducting your investigation the way you should have, you'd have been contacting the Left Hand Path people, whoever they are, and maybe getting to the bottom of this, and maybe this girl wouldn't have died!"

He shook his head. "Look, it's OK. Just don't do it again!"

He went stomping away to his car. Scully raised an eyebrow at White. "He was sure bent out of shape!"

White ran a hand through his thick hair. "Yeah. Listen, don't take it personally. He's got a tough case and maybe another bee up his bonnet."

"Why were you late? What was your 'urgent matter'?" Scully asked.

White motioned her ahead of Mulder. "Later, Dana. At the house."

Mulder walked along behind, bemused. "What are you two up to, anyway?"

"Nothing!" Scully answered brightly.

"Yeah, right!"

After showering and dressing carefully, Mulder left the house at 11:30. 

"Goin' out, Scully," he called.

"Where to? Anyplace in particular?"

Boy! Is she ever nosy! Mulder thought. "Naw. I thought I'd swing by the University, go to lunch on the Wharf after that, something like that."

"Mulder," she said, looking up from printouts she had spread all over the kitchen table.

"Yas'm?"

"Are you hitting those books and developing lesson plans for your classes? Remember, they start in a week and a half."

"Yes, Scully, I am. Not to worry!"

"Mulder?"

"Intelligence has it you've been out with Alex Krycek."

Mulder's heart skipped several beats. "Um?" He said.

"A couple days ago," said Scully. "You are not to do that, ever again. You and Krycek were made on the Mall. Positive ID."

"I...I was just talking to the man! I happened to run into him!"

"Well, you're happening to run into him an awful lot. Mulder," she said firmly. "This is to stop. Now. If I hear you're headed out his way today, then you are in big trouble. Skinner could even charge you with consorting with the enemy."

"He is not the enemy!"

"He is, Mulder. Better get that clear in your head. Mulder," she said, pleadingly, "there are so many beautiful young women in this town. They seem to range from attractive to drop-dead gorgeous! Can't you find yourself interested in any of them?"

He rolled his eyes where she could not see him. "OK!"

"OK, what?"

"OK, I'll date women, all right?"

"All right," she said, somewhat mollified.

*************************************************

The drive up to Krycek's place was uneventful. Mulder felt very pleased with himself, sticking a Go-Go's tape in the player and humming along in his rather tuneless voice.

Krycek was waiting for him inside, dressed in jeans and a white silk poet's shirt. Mulder was struck by the sheer beauty of the man. "God," he breathed.

"No, not God. Just little me," said Krycek. "Here, come in and have something to drink. There's wine, or champagne, or if you wish I can mix whatever you like."

"I'll have whatever you're having."

"Dom Perignon? Good choice!" Krycek poured him a glass and handed it to him. Mulder sat on the big leather couch.

"Take off your pants!" Said Krycek suddenly.

"OK," said Mulder, happy to oblige, pulling off jeans and shorts. He could feel himself rising to the occasion.

Krycek dropped to the floor and crept on his knees to Mulder. "Ah," he said, taking Mulder into his mouth. He sucked in Mulder's cock all the way to the root. Mulder gasped. Krycek's nimble fingers worked Mulder's balls, sucking in his cock, licking it on the downstroke, tonguing the tip of the cockhead.

"Oh, Alex, harder! Suck me harder!" Mulder begged. Krycek obliged by increasing the pressure. Stroking up and down with his lips, tongue and mouth, he brought Mulder to the brink.

"Alex! I'm gonna come!" he yelled and shot a load of sticky fluid down Krycek's throat.

Mulder lay back, panting. "You do that so well, Alex!"

Krycek grinned. "Wanna learn how?" He unzipped his fly and pulled out his cock, lying on his back and spreading his legs. "Here you go!"

Mulder sat and took Krycek in his mouth, awkwardly at first. When Krycek thrust upward, Mulder gagged a little. "That's OK, lisitsa. Take it a little at a time. Relax your throat. Thaaaat's it!" Mulder sucked him, hesitantly, in small gulps, then in one large one. Krycek moaned. "That's it, baby, suck me hard!" Mulder sucked him from root to tip and Krycek groaned. "Sorry--I'm--coming," he gasped, and shot hot liquid down Mulder's throat. Mulder swallowed the bitter sea-tasting fluid in wonderment. So this is what it was all about?

He and Krycek sat up. "Made you a crab quiche," Krycek said blithely, pulling his pants up. "I think you'll like it, it's really good, and I have a cheese fondue all set, too."

"Do you have servants that do all this stuff?" Wondered Mulder.

Krycek laughed. "It's just me."

"Alex," Mulder asked, his brow furrowing, "why do you have ashtrays around? I've never seen you smoke."

Krycek went to alert status. "They're for ... friends ... when they visit. Friends who smoke."

"Oh," said Mulder, feeling a stab of jealousy. "My father smokes," he said idly.

"Oh?" Alex was beginning to be alarmed by the turn the conversation had taken.

"Yeah, my biological father. The guy who raised me is dead. Anyway, my father visited me several times while I was in this hospital, Cottonwood Lanes. He smoked these Morley cigarettes? All the time."

"What did he do when he visited?"

"Oh, he brought me lots of gifts -- fruit, flowers, stuff like that. He was really, really nice, Alex. He visited when Scully and White were in Maui. One time, he showed me a picture of a man who looked like you, only younger. He told me a name, and he told me to beware of the man."

Krycek went on DefCon 2. "You don't remember the name?"

"No, I don't." Back to DefCon 3. Krycek was glad he had hidden the pictures of him and the Old Man. Too bad he'd forgotten the ashtrays.

"Anyway," he said, "come get some of the quiche. It's so nice we can eat outside. I've got a table all set out there." He indicated the back lawn. "It would be really pretty if the gophers didn't keep pulling up, or rather down, the flowers."

He opened the sliding glass door and they went outside.

"God, this is really good, Alex," Mulder remarked. "You can sure cook."

"I can, can't I?" Alex asked, winking.

"Doesn't the O'Mei miss you? Or did you quit that job?"

"Oh, I still go in a day or two a week. It's very flexible," said Krycek, easily.

Mulder speared a chunk of French bread and dipped it in the fondue. "They know about us, you know," he said blandly.

"Who is 'they'?" Krycek asked, stiffening.

"Oh, Skinner and Scully."

"What!" Krycek leaped to his feet, scattering a few dishes.

Mulder put an appeasing hand on his arm. "Hey look, it's not like that. They don't know the gory details or anything. Somebody made us when we were on the Mall."

Krycek thought about this. "I think I know who that "somebody" was," he said softly. "And I will kill him. But first, we finish eating." He sat down.

Mulder shook his head. Such violent talk from such a gentle man.

They finished eating and took the dishes inside. "Put 'em in the sink," said Krycek. "I'll do 'em later. Now, Mulder," he said, "Now is time for dessert. Take all your clothes off. I want to see you in your beautiful nakedness."

Mulder obliged and Krycek gasped as he saw the enormous erection. "You, my friend, have the biggest cock I've ever seen!" he exclaimed.

Mulder could feel himself actually blushing. "Thanks," he said.

Krycek stripped. "My love," he breathed, coming in close to Mulder for a kiss. His lips, his tongue worked Mulder's mouth.

He stepped back. "You find me attractive," he asked, "even with this?" indicating the scars on his left side where an arm should have been.

"Alex, I think you are the most gorgeous, the sexiest thing I have ever known," said Mulder, and kissed him. His tongue probed Krycek's mouth, his throat, and their tongues met. "You kiss good," said Mulder, pulling back.

"Let's fuck each other, Mulder. I need you to fuck me, hard. The lube is...here," he said, finding it under a seat cushion. "Here you go!"

Mulder glopped a good deal of the lube on three fingers. First he worked one, then two and then three fingers into Krycek, stretching him for the big cock to come. Krycek gasped and moaned. "Turn over!" Mulder said tersely, "and stick your ass in the air!"

Krycek was happy to oblige. "Fuck me, Mulder!" he moaned.

Mulder poised the tip of his cock against the tight muscle for a moment and then pushed himself in, in centimeters.

"All of you, Mulder! I want all of you!" Krycek begged.

Mulder pushed himself all the way in and began thrusting. With one hand, he reached around and stroked Krycek's cock. Krycek took a remarkably short time to come and then before Mulder knew it he was coming, coming into the hot darkness.

They extricated themselves from each other and fell on their backs on the living room floor. "That was majorly good, Mulder," Krycek remarked.

Mulder whistled. "More than majorly, I'd say."

"Come, Mulder. I want to show you something," said Krycek suddenly. He went to one of the Hepplewhite chests and opened it. He came forth with a ring, which he handed to Mulder. "Does this stir any memory in you?"

Mulder took it, wonderingly. The ring was of gold, very wide, finely chased and beaded. He shook his head.

"Look on the inside," Krycek urged.

Mulder studied the ring. There was indeed some sort of writing on the inside. "Alex and Fox, together forever. July 17, 2000." Mulder looked up at Krycek. "This is us? Some kind of love pact?"

Then he was falling backward in space and time, leaving his body. Krycek caught him before he struck the floor. Images flooded his mind and he was insensate to the world around him. "I remember!" He cried. "I remember!" He was remembering it, all of it. Suddenly he returned to his body and sat up.

"You work for the Smoking Man! You killed my father! But you are my love, my one and only forever!" He shook his head. "I remember, but I don't understand."

Krycek said, "you don't have to understand. You can let the memories take you. Go with them, Mulder!"

Mulder lay back on the floor. "I remember a wedding ceremony. But where is my ring?"

"It's probably back in D.C., if it's anywhere. I can have another one made for you, if you like."

"Can you? So Alex, you are my love? This is true, isn't it?"

Krycek sighed. "Oh, yes, lisitsa. What God/Great Spirit has joined together, let no man..."

"Alex."

"Mulder."

"I wanna fuck you. Now."

"Here's the lube," Krycek said, tossing it to him.

Mulder lubed two fingers and his cock. "Let's get a cushion...there, that should do it," he said, pushing the cushion underneath Krycek's hips. The younger man had already gotten hard in anticipation.

Mulder knelt over him and played with Krycek's cock and balls, taking his cock into his mouth, sliding his lips up and down over it, then cupping his balls in his hands, then sucking them into his mouth, gently.

Then he thrust one finger into Alex. Krycek groaned. Mulder stuck another finger up Krycek, widening him. Alex moaned and writhed with anticipation. "Fuck me, Mulder. Fuck me good," he panted. Mulder pressed his cock head up against the tight bud, then he was through it. Alex yelped.

Mulder thrust as hard and as deep as he could, each stroke eliciting a cry from Krycek. Krycek's hand roamed around to his cock, and Mulder batted it away. Mulder grasped Krycek's cock and worked it.

The two men came at the same time, Mulder jetting hot come into Krycek's heat and Krycek coming all over his belly. They separated and lay on their backs, breathing hard, Mulder playing with Krycek's sticky belly, Krycek hugging Mulder with his one arm. And this is how they fell asleep, and this is how they were when the cops came banging on the heavy oak door.

*************************************************

All morning, and during the first part of the afternoon, Scully and then White had been poring over voluminous printouts. First the phone records for the house, then the phone records for Mulder's cell phone, then the list of unlisted numbers. Scully had made several calls to credit card companies. Yes, an A. Krycek had an account with Chase Manhattan Bank, and with Shell, but the billing addresses were to P.O. box numbers. In checking with the Post Office, she was given a spurious home address which didn't check out. The house phone records yielded nothing. She scanned the unlisted phone number list, looking for Krycek and then for Spender, on a whim, and found again nothing. Mulder's cell phone records indicated him calling, besides her and the University, a particular number repeatedly, but there was only a P.O. Box address associated with this number.

She sat back and rubbed her eyes.

"Anything?" White asked, his keen eyes raking the lists.

"Almost less than nothing," she said wearily.

"Think Mulder would know?" he asked suddenly.

"He might," she admitted. "But where is he?"

"Let's just hope he's not somewhere he's not supposed to be," said White.

Scully looked at him narrowly. "Let's look in his room."

They looked but could find nothing. Scully picked up a jacket of Mulder's absent-mindedly, thinking to transfer it to the coat closet, when a folded slip of paper fell out. She unfolded it and shouted, "Look!"

Written in Mulder's familiar scrawl was "A.K. 1013 Lamb Hill Road."

White nodded. "Yes. I think that's in Soquel. I'll contact the police."

*************************************************

Scully and White stood aside as the police knocked on the door. "Police! Open up!" They shouted. They pounded on the door, harder. "Police! Open the door!"

The door was opened by a sleepy Krycek, dressed only in jeans. He was grabbed through the door, spun around and frisked. "Alex Krycek, you're under arrest for making terroristic threats and for espionage," the policeman said. "Waist chain," he said over his shoulder. A chain was fastened around Krycek's waist and he was cuffed, arm behind his back, to the chain. He was led to the squad car and seated in back.

Scully and White walked into the house. Mulder was struggling to pull jeans over his shorts.

"Mulder," said Scully in a dire tone. "Mulder, you're up shit creek."

"You could be charged with consorting with the enemy," White remarked.

"Fuck," said Mulder conversationally. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"You did such a wrong thing that I am now placing you under house arrest. You may only leave on University business and to accompany me, Scully or Skinner on our investigations, clothes or grocery shopping, or the like." 

"Fuck," said Mulder, shaking his head. He finished dressing and Scully and White led him out to their waiting car. "What about my Alex? Alex was arrested? My Alex?" Mulder asked.

"He's going to jail, which is where he's belonged for a long time."

"I can't live without him," said Mulder, and began to cry in wracking sobs as he got into the back seat. "He can't go to jail! I love him!"

Scully and White exchanged glances as White maneuvered the car around in the driveway.

"Mulder. Mulder, it'll be all right." Scully said gently, touching his arm.

He yanked it away. "No, it won't be all right!"

"And what about my car?" he said, suddenly thinking of the Taurus. His wheels!

"We'll have someone pick it up."

"Alex is really going to jail?"

"Yes," said Scully patiently.

"Is that where we're going now?"

"You're not going to jail, Mulder. You're going home, Scully will give you a tranquilizer and you'll sleep. Scully and I are going to the jail to interrogate Krycek."

This prompted a fresh gush of sobbing. Scully shook her head.

*************************************************

At the Santa Cruz jail, Krycek was unchained, strip-searched and cavity-searched, then put in a cell by himself. As he walked past the other inmates, they called out to him. "Hey pretty boy, wanna suck my dick?" "Hey gorgeous, wanna play hide the salami?" "Wanna rub dirty?"

Krycek sat on the bench and sulked. He had already told the corrections officer that he wanted to make the call he was entitled to, but he'd been ignored. No telling what the bastards had in store for him, but he guessed it wasn't pleasant. Probably wasn't Constitutional, either.

Within the span of a few minutes, the C.O. came for him, chaining him back up. He was taken into an interrogation room, unchained and uncuffed, and seated on a hard chair. In a moment Skinner, White and Scully walked into the room. "The gang's all here!" Krycek sneered. "Look, I'm not talking till my lawyer gets here, and I haven't had the opportunity to call him," he added.

They all took seats at the table. "You bastard," said Skinner softly. "You made threats against an innocent young man, and we have reason to believe you'd follow through on those threats. You murdered several people, and you ruined our best agent. We fixed him, and you destroyed him again. You faggot. You queer. You disgust me."

Krycek met his gaze, emerald eyes, full of fire, meeting determined brown ones.

White lunged forward and slapped Krycek. "You creep! I want to hear a confession!"

Krycek recovered from the blow, looked down. "I want my lawyer," he said quietly.

Again, a resounding slap. "Come on! Tell me what I want to hear!"

"You'll never hear it," said Krycek, softly.

It was a subdued, and bruised Krycek who was returned to his cell two hours later. Without a word the C.O. rolled the mobile phone unit to his cell, and Krycek made the call.

"It's 3:00 in the morning, Alex. What is it?"

Krycek explained his situation.

"Alex, it was very remiss of you to get yourself into this mess. I'll get you out of it, but I will have to devise a suitable punishment for you, when I get back."

Krycek sighed. He could just imagine what that might be: the belt, or something unutterably more degrading.

"Alex, you must stop seeing Fox Mulder at once. If I hear that you are continuing this relationship, the punishment will be dire."

Oh, boy.

He hung up the phone and sank down on his cot. Almost exactly an hour later, the C.O. came for him. "Alex Krycek," he said, "you're going to hit the street. All charges against you have been dropped."

It was as he had expected. As he stood at the bus stop near the jail waiting for the cab he'd called from a gas station phone, a silver American car of recent vintage drove slowly by, circled back and pulled up.

"What the fuck do you want?" He said.

"Krycek, don't imagine that we're finished with you," White remarked, then gunned the engine, and they were away.

*************************************************

Sharon Green had an uneasy night. She found it difficult to sleep. Finally, she got up and made herself some chamomile tea. This calmed her a bit. The she caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror. No, it couldn't be. There was her elfin face and waist-length vanilla-colored locks, but she seemed to be wreathed in flames. When she tore herself away and looked again, the flames were gone.

When she recovered a little from her shock and horror, she pondered a moment, then picked up her phone and punched in a number. She must warn the FBI agents at once.

The phone rang three times then the voice mail came on. "Hey, guys, this is Sharon Green. I must warn you. You are in great danger. Please call 429-6632." 

Sharon reached for her cigarettes. It was a horrible habit and at odds with everything she believed in, but it did come in handy. She lit a Marlboro and sucked in the smoke. She was surprised when the phone rang almost immediately. She picked up the "space phone" handset in her left hand, held the cigarette in the other. "Hello?"

"Sharon? This is Fox Mulder."

"Mulder? Did you get my message?"

"Yes, just got the voicemail. What kind of danger are we in?"

"Um, I'd prefer not to tell you over the phone. Can you come over to my place?"

"I'd like to, but no wheels. Why don't you come over here?"

She considered. "Yes, I can do that. Will the others be there?"

"White and Scully? They're interrogating my boyfriend at the jail."

"Oh, good Lord! What did he do?"

"Nothing," Mulder said bitterly, "except being Alex Krycek."

There was silence at the other end for a moment. "Your boyfriend is Alex Krycek?" she asked casually.

"You know him?" Mulder was astounded.

"I might," she said carefully. "Look, wait'll I get there..."

"OK."

Sharon drove down the hill to Steamer's and parked in front of Mulder's house. Mulder watched her from his second-story window. She was wearing a peasant top and skirt. Very neo-hippie, he thought.

He opened the front door before she'd gotten to it. "Welcome to my humble abode," he said with a grand gesture. She looked at him from slightly tilted brown eyes. 

"They gave you a tranquilizer, didn't they, only you tongued it and spat it out," she said, moving past him into the living room.

Mulder ran a hand through his thick golden-brown hair. "How did you know?"

"As I told you, I'm a psychic. It doesn't work all the time, though. Just in spurts."

"Can I get you anything to drink?"

"If you have white wine, that would be great!"

He walked into the kitchen and poured two glasses of wine. She accepted hers with thanks.

"Now," she said. "Here it all is: First, as I've told you, I am a witch. Specifically, I am a Wiccan. I am a high priestess of the local chapter of the Church of Wicca. Do you know anything about that?"

"Yes, I've read some books on Wicca, just to understand it."

"Good. OK. Alex Krycek is an initiate in my coven. He's a faithful parishioner and he's well-liked. OK," she said, taking a sip of the wine, "now for the other stuff. I don't know whether you can believe me or not, but I'm going to tell you: all those people being killed? They're not killed by a Satanic cult. They BELONG to a Satanic cult, and the actual killer is the Devil himself."

She took a big gulp of wine.

Mulder swallowed some of his. "Good God," he said softly. "You're right, I don't know whether to believe that or not. How do you know, Sharon?"

She twirled her goblet. "I just know. I've had certain visions and premonitions."

Mulder raised his eyebrows. "Such as?"

"Well, tonight I looked in the mirror and saw myself surrounded by flames. Those marks on the bodies?"

Mulder started. How did she know about that?

"One said 'death to Sharon,' and another said 'damnation to Sharon,' am I not right?"

"Y-yes," said Mulder, a little shakily.

"Do you believe me yet? I think I'll get a refill on this wine," she said in one breath, getting up.

"Oh, let me get that for you," he said, refilling his as well. The wine would probably have played havoc with his psych meds, if he'd been taking them.

Bringing back the wine, he asked, "do you want something to eat? There's part of a lasagna in the fridge that I can microwave for you."

She shook her head. "Not hungry." She looked at him. "I just want to know that you believe me, Mulder."

"I think I do," he said hesitantly.

When White and Scully returned, they found Mulder, not sleeping but huddled on the floor with a young woman of surpassing beauty, drinking chablis.

Scully smiled. "Well, hello, Mulder. Thought you'd be asleep but this is a great alternative!"

Sharon rose and extended her hand. "Sharon Green. I work in the psych department."

"Well, we're delighted to make your acquaintance. I'm Dana Scully and this is David White." They shook hands. Sharon, Scully noted, had a firm grip.

"The things we've been talking about are intended for your ears, too." Sharon said, and proceeded to tell them everything she'd told Mulder, leaving out the Krycek part.

They listened with fascination. "So if this is true," Scully said slowly, "how do we fight it? How do we fight the Devil?"

"We Wiccans have certain...rituals designed to fight evil. So far, they haven't worked. We may consider bringing a priest or minister into it. There is always the Great Rite. That is performed between a High Priestess and a High Priest, or someone elected to take their place. At present we have no High Priest in our group." Sharon thought of Alex Krycek, but said nothing.

Scully shook her head. "This is a lot to take in. Looks like, for one thing, we have the X-File to end all X-Files."

On the way up to their bedroom, White remarked, "It's nice to see those two together like that."

Scully agreed. "You know, I wish Alex Krycek were still in jail. He's only out because of his connections...maybe the people he's working for? The Consortium? They're still around even though we got rid of the aliens?"

White said, "the Smoking Man. He's behind Krycek. Krycek is probably involved in espionage in this case, although we couldn't get anything out of him in the jail. Wonder what the Consortium wants with this case?"

Scully snorted. "You can just bet it's no good."

*************************************************

Krycek got back home at midnight and fell asleep immediately on the big waterbed, its slow undulations soothing and hypnotic. He awoke at 5 am with the birds. They sang and chattered merrily around the grounds. If only he felt as happy as they sounded. 

He checked his voicemail. He had one frantic call from the manager of the O'Mei, asking him to work a double shift as assistant cook. It seemed that the chef had sprained his wrist and could not chop the vegetables. And I, with one arm, can, Alex thought with a grin. He left a message on the O'Mei's answering machine stating that he deeply regretted this, but that he was quitting.

He thought about making himself an omelette, then decided he wasn't hungry.

Mulder, he thought. Mulder. How can I live without you? Mulder, call me. Please! Do something!

He sat at the dining room table and put his face in his hands. Two tears slipped out from under his long dark lashes and ran down his face. Mulder. I'd rather die than live without you.

The phone rang. Awful damned early, he thought, but went to answer it. "This is Sorceror Cassell of the Santa Cruz chapter of the Left Hand Path," the voice said. "You had questions?"

"Yeah, I have questions all right. I understand you guys are Satanists?"

There was a pause. "We prefer not to identify ourselves as such, but that is, essentially, what we are."

"You are losing members? They're dying in grotesque, horrible ways?"

Again the hesitation. "Yes, we are. Do you know something about this?"

"Yes, something."

"Are you a Wiccan?"

"Yes, I am. Now can you tell me where your services or whatever are held? I want to check 'em out."

"We hold services once a month; the next one is next Thursday. You are interested in attending?"

No, you idiot. That's why I asked. "Yes, possibly," he said, tentatively. "Give me time, place, all that." He jotted it down on a pad. "All right, then, thanks," he said, and hung up.

Krycek rose and went to the kitchen to make coffee. As he did so, he heard the sound of a truck laboring up the grade in second gear. He pulled the kitchen curtains back and saw a horse trailer pulling up to his driveway.

"Shit oh God, wonder what they want?" he asked irritably. The driver of the truck alighted from his vehicle and stretched. He was tall, rather stocky, with a long ponytail.

Krycek shot out the door, running up the steep driveway. "Bill! Bill!" he shouted, and flung himself into the other man's arms.

Bill Runningwater hugged him then held him out at arm's length. "You have lost weight," he commented, looking him up and down. "They're not keeping you well, Alexei?"

"They are," said Krycek with a smile. "I've been moody, Bill. You know how I get."

Runningwater shook his head. "You must take care of yourself, Alexei!"

"Bill, you are looking good! Why are you down off the mountain? And what have you brought me?" Krycek indicated the horse trailer, from which soft whickers could be heard.

Runningwater smiled. "I have brought you your favorites, Alexei. The stallions Diablo and Guardian."

"No kidding!" Krycek ran around to the back of the horse trailer. "I'll help you unload 'em. 

"How did you get them off the mountain?"

Runningwater spread his hands out. "Simple. I rode Diablo, leading Guardian."

Krycek was already dropping the ramp down and beginning to back Diablo down it. "The Old Man know about this?"

Bill nodded. "Yes, he ordered it. You may pasture the horses on the grounds. I gather he owns a lot of acreage here?"

Krycek rolled his eyes, gently easing Diablo down the last couple feet of the ramp. "The whole hill."

"Then the horses will have plenty of room?"

"Oh, yes. Acres and acres. What kind of tack did you bring, Bill?" Krycek asked, handing Diablo to Runningwater.

"English and Western, halters, blankets, stuff like that. There're also some sacks of grain, buckets, salt licks, nosebags... They're freshly shod and checked out by a local vet. You know."

Krycek nodded, walking up the ramp to get Guardian. The tall bay Thoroughbred turned partly around to look at him and squealed.

Runningwater laughed. "He's happy to see you, Alexei!"

Krycek smiled and unloaded the stallion. "OK, we'll put them in these fenced fields. One to each field."

"Plenty of opportunity for them to run, to play...to kick up their heels--"

"To pick up worms," Krycek said dryly, and they both laughed.

"Here! I'll put them in their pastures now," he said, and led the horses up to the pasture gates. "Hope they don't jump 'em," he observed. "They're only five feet high."

He put the stallions in separate but adjoining fields. "They get along remarkably well, for stallions," he said, watching them play for a moment. Then he turned to Runningwater. "Come, Bill, have some coffee with me!"

Over coffee and Danish, they caught each other up. Runningwater had remained on the ranch when Alex was airlifted out, seeing to this and that. When the word came that Krycek was to have the two horses, he'd ridden down the mountain on Diablo, leading Guardian, without incident.

"You know," Runningwater said, aiming a piece of Danish at Krycek, "the Old Man really cares about you."

Krycek snorted. "Yeah, right."

"You are his lover, after all."

Krycek looked down, long lashes dark against his cheek. "I am his whore!" He spat out. 

Runningwater raised an eyebrow. "I know; you are his boy-toy. But that doesn't change his feelings for you."

"He pays me," Krycek said bluntly. "A lot. I wouldn't do it, except for the money."

Runningwater chewed and swallowed. "His capacity for caring is rather limited," he began slowly, "but he does care about you."

"In his way, maybe. Maybe."

"How much are you getting paid?"

"A hundred and fifty K a year," said Krycek, taking a swig of coffee. "For managing his households and ... taking care of him. Plus, more for certain other considerations."

"Are you back spying, Alexei?" Runningwater shook his head disapprovingly.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, Bill. I have to make a living somehow."

"Are you spying in an X-Files case?"

"As a matter of fact, I am." He pushed his chair back from the table. "Want more coffee, Bill? This French press really makes good coffee, doesn't it?"

"Yes, another cup, please." Krycek brought the press over and poured Runningwater a cup.

"What is the X-File?" Runningwater asked, deceptively casual.

"Oh, has to do with the murders of a bunch of Satanists."

"Oh, really?" The Navajo looked troubled. "Alexei?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want you getting mixed up with that Satanic stuff. It can really turn you. I've seen it happen."

Krycek sat down and regarded Runningwater with his black-fringed emerald eyes. "Since when has anything ever turned me?"

Bill laughed. "Fox Mulder turned you, for one!"

Krycek put his head in his hands, silent.

"Ah, I see you've gone and gotten mixed up with the FBI Agent again, Alexei?" 

Then the Navajo smiled. "Well, I wish you all happiness! I know how much you love each other!"

"It's not that simple. They caught us practically in flagrante delicto, and they arrested me on trumped-up charges. He, they placed under house arrest. I heard them talking to him."

"They and them being Scully and White?"

"Yes," Krycek answered, taking a sip of coffee.

"What were the 'trumped-up charges', Alexei?"

Krycek looked down, stirring his coffee idly. "Oh, espionage, things like that."

"Well, you are a spy. What else? What about the 'things like that'?"

Krycek took a deep breath. "They say I threatened Dan West."

Runningwater looked at him, astonished. "Daniel West is in town? How could that be?"

Krycek shrugged. "Santa Cruz, you know. It draws people."

"And you just happened to run into him?"

"Something like that, yes."

Runningwater shook his head. "Come here, Alexei!" he said, and hugged Krycek.

"My poor boy. Always getting into trouble. Perhaps only I know what a soft heart you have."

The phone rang, and Krycek disengaged himself. "Could be important," he murmured.

"Krycek," he answered.

At the other end of the line, Mulder shivered. That soft, husky voice could really do things to him. "Mulder," he said.

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home. I'm not supposed to be calling you, but I am," he said blithely.

Krycek laughed. "Bad boy, huh? Hey, Mulder, want to go for a ride?"

Bill Runningwater sat up straighter in his chair, listening.

"A ride? A ride in your car?"

"A ride on my horses, Mulder. Bill Runningwater's here and he's brought Diablo and Guardian."

Mulder hesitated. He was upstairs, and talking softly, as Scully and White were downstairs fixing breakfast. "I've been working on these lesson plans. I'm almost done. I could swing by the Psych Department, then your place."

"Wear riding clothes, Mulder. Do you have boots?"

"Um, not really..."

"Well, I can lend you a pair of mine. Be here in an hour!"

He replaced the handset in the receiver. The Navajo looked at him, eyes shining. "So you are renewing your relationship with the FBI agent? On balance, I think this is good!"

"On balance, huh? Say, Bill, do you have a place to stay?"

"I was planning to stay at the Motel 6 in Santa Cruz. I have reservations."

"And I have reservations about the motel. Come, stay with me. I have lots of room."

Runningwater smiled. "That is very generous of you!"

*************************************************

Mulder arrived at the psych department office only to find it locked and empty of life forms. He wrote quickly on the envelope containing the printout and diskette, "Lesson Plans, Psych 1 and 143, Dr. Fox Mulder," and shoved the envelope under the door. At least he'd completed it, he thought.

Instead of following Mission down to River Street, he turned onto the freeway's south onramp and cruised to Soquel, humming along to his New Order tape. "I don't need your sympathy, why don't you ever look at me? You'll get nothing from me," he sang.

Krycek was looking at out for him, holding the horses at the top of his driveway, with Bill Runningwater, who shook his hand in greeting.

"Good to see you!" Mulder exclaimed. "Now, Alex, which is my horse?"

Krycek laughed. "You can ride Diablo. He's easy."

They rode through hills and valleys, grasslands and forests. There were a couple of fences in the way. Krycek gaily jumped his and urged Mulder to do the same. "Come on! You can do it! The horses know how!" Eventually Mulder got up the courage to jump, and they were on their way. They crossed a field of fragrant flowers.

"There are lots of bees here," remarked Krycek.

"Lots and LOTS of bees!" said Mulder swatting at them. "Are there beehives around here?"

"Yes. These flowers are grown just for the bees' benefit. They make the best honey in the world!"

"OK," said Mulder, waving one away. "Will they sting?"

"No, probably not. They're not the Africanized bees."

They rode through scrubby oaks and then came to a forest of giant coast redwoods and paused, the horses tossing their heads and snorting. Krycek turned in his saddle. "This is the Forest of Nicene Marks, Mulder. A very sacred place. Don't you feel it?"

Mulder nodded. "It's very beautiful," he said. They rode on through the forest. "What's this?" he asked suddenly. There was something in the forest duff that appeared to be a jewelry item of some kind. He dismounted and picked it up. "It's a cross," he said wonderingly, "but the way it's attached to the chain, it's upside down."

Krycek hopped down from Guardian. He reached a hand out to the chain and then --

\-- Mulder was borne aloft by a winged creature or personage, he could not tell which, with black-feathered wings swooping and flapping about him. Far below, he saw Krycek, supine, his arm outstretched. "You can fly!" the creature called to him, and let him go. He felt wind whooshing by him and the ground rushing up to meet him.

Then he was lying in bed, his own bed, flailing his arms. He opened his eyes and looked in wonder at himself. He was OK; he was intact. But he was wearing Krycek's scarred leather riding boots. All his clothes, including the boots, were very dirty.

The knock on the door was more insistent. "Mulder! Didn't see you come in! Are you having a nightmare? Mulder, are you taking your psych meds? It's dinner. David has made us a nice quiche."

Krycek felt himself falling into an endless black pit. He screamed, flailing his limbs. All around him, the walls of the pit seemed to ripple in peristaltic waves, as though he were being digested. And there was loud and terrible laughter.

He came to on his back, on the forest floor. The horses, loose, had moved a few feet away and were contentedly pulling up redwood sorrel. He gradually rose and looked around him. Everything was as it should be, except that there was no Mulder.

"Mulder!" he called, "Mulder! Are you OK? It's me, Alex!" He ran this way and that, calling for Mulder. Then he thought of his cell phone. Just maybe. He punched the number and the phone was answered on the first ring. 

"Mulder."

Waves of relief washed over Krycek. "Mulder, it's Alex. Where are you?"

"Me? I'm at home, though I don't know how I got here. Where are you?"

"I'm still in the Forest, Mulder. Do you still have the cross?"

"No. It must be somewhere around. But after what just happened, do you really want to find it?"

"I don't know," Krycek answered honestly. "Hey, I've found something!" He exclaimed.

"What is it?"

"It's a burn mark through the pine needles. Sort of roughly cross-shaped. And, in digging through the needles, I find a burn mark in the ground...You're right, Mulder. Let's leave this thing alone."

He gathered the horses, and, riding Guardian and leading Diablo, made his way back home.

Runningwater was waiting for him. "Something very bad happened to you," he said gravely. 

Krycek nodded. "Yes. Let's go in and I'll tell you."

"I made you some fry bread and mutton stew. I know how you like that," he said, clapping Krycek on the back.

*************************************************

Sharon had spent the day at the library. It was within walking distance of her apartment, and she strode through some of the most beautiful countryside in the land, her spirits high. Preliminary work on her biochemistry dissertation, which was an examination of the chemistry of bipolar disorder, was going well. As for the HistCon paper, that would practically write itself. She intended to compare and contrast yoga and Christian meditation. She hummed a little tune in time to her strides, and didn't even notice the rain clouds gathering above her.

The rain started, first as a little patter, then a pelting mass of little wet needles, and finally a downpour such as she had never seen the like of before. She ran along the path, laughing. Her papers were safely in her backpack, but her clothes stuck to her body and her hair was a wet sheet. Suddenly something struck the path ahead of her with a "ping." She stopped and bent down to look at it. It seemed to be a cross, but an upside-down one. She dropped it as though she'd been burned.

Lightning flashed, and her eyes were dazzled. Maybe that's why she saw the Being. The Being of light approached her. "Sharon," it intoned solemnly.

"To whom am I speaking?" Sharon demanded.

"I am an emissary of the Light. You are to take the cross back with you. You will return it from whence it came."

"Oh...How, and to whom?"

"You will know when the time comes. The cross, cursed though it be, will not hurt you. You have powers, only some of which you realize. They will protect you. Show it to no one. When it is time, you will return it to the Darkness."

"Yes," she said. The being disappeared and the storm blew over. Sharon was left standing, wet, dripping, shivering. She tucked the cross in her pocket with distaste. She resented handling it at all. She sure hoped the Light Being was right about her being able to take custody of it without harm.

*************************************************

"Mulder. Did you get your lesson plans done and turned in to the University today?" Scully asked offhandedly, forking quiche. "This is really good quiche, David -- so real men DO eat it, huh?"

Mulder rolled his eyes and played with the food on his plate. "You two. And are you still cohabiting after what Skinner said?"

Silence. Nervous silence. Darting glances at each other.

"Thought so," said Mulder smugly. He toyed some more with his broccoli, hiding it behind his quiche. "Well, Skinner will never hear about it from me!"

Two sets of eyes, looking at him gratefully. "Thanks, Mulder," said White at last, and Scully echoed the "thanks."

He thought about what had happened today, rolled it over and over in his mind, tasted it. He really should tell them about it. It would impede the investigation not to, and therefore they had the right to know.

"Hey guys," he said thoughtfully. "Something really weird happened to me today, and it has bearing on the case, I think."

They looked at him questioningly. "Want some orange juice, Mulder?" asked Scully. 

"I would like some rose wine, please," he said mildly.

"You really shouldn't, with your psych meds," she remarked, but passed it to him anyway. Little did she know, of course, that he wasn't taking the meds.

"I was out riding today," he began.

"At that stable in Felton? How nice!" Scully said.

"Uh. No. I was out riding in Soquel."

"Mulder," said Scully threateningly, "am I going to have to cuff you to your bed? And after you were hanging out with Sharon last night!"

He held up a hand. "Now, hear me out!"

He told the story, start to finish, and they listened raptly, forgetting to chew or swallow. "I guess my car is back at Krycek's place, too."

Scully shook her head. "It's parked out front. Come look!" Sure enough, the 2000 blue Taurus was there.

Mulder shook his head. "I don't know what to make of that."

"We didn't see or hear you come in," Scully pointed out. "'Course, we were pretty busy!"

I just bet you were, he thought. "So, the deal is," he said, "I say nothing to Skinner about you guys -- you know -- and you say nothing to him about this Krycek incident."

White shook his head. "You drive a hard bargain. I hate that fucker! He's a one-man crime wave! But I'm willing to overlook this once..."

"You'll overlook it in the future, too," said Mulder smoothly.

"Hey! I just put you on house arrest!"

"Well, you can just take me off it!" Both men rose in their seats.

"Hey, guys, guys," Scully pleaded. "Let's accept Mulder's deal. Take him off house arrest."

White shrugged. "OK," he said wearily. "I can't keep you from consorting with what clearly appears to be the enemy. But don't compromise the mission by flapping your lips, Mulder. I'm serious."

Mulder nodded, and grinned. What he had in mind for his lips didn't exactly involve flapping them. 

*************************************************

"Langly."

"Frohike."

"Can I have the window seat on the way back?"

"Yeah, I guess. Hey, look at that!"

"What?" Frohike asked, craning his neck.

"The Great Salt Lake."

"Oh. How much longer is this trip?"

"About 2 more hours," answered Byers, from the seat ahead of them. "Hang on, Frohike!"

Two hours later.

"Langly."

"Frohike," said Langly, unwrapping a grape sucker.

"Tell me again why we're doing this?"

"You should know, you got the call."

"Mulder called. He's in trouble. We're flying out at great trouble--"

"And expense," intoned Byers.

"-- to save his biscuits."

The sucker popped in. "That was a pretty good synopsis, Froggy."

"Langly."

"Frohike."

"What is that large body of water I can almost see under your oh-so-prominent chin?

"Ha, ha. That, oh bear of very little brain, is the San Francisco Bay."

"Is it really? That's great! We're almost there."

"Going into landing pattern about...now."

"Langly."

"Frohike."

"Why do I feel sick all of a sudden?"

"Hey man, watch where you point that thing! Here's the airsick bag, here!"

Frohike chuckled. He wasn't really ill. Not so very badly.

"Langly."

"Frohike." Said around the sucker in a note of exasperation.

"Why are we going round and round? This must be the 11th go-round."

"This is a holding pattern, Frohike. The plane's not cleared for landing."

"Well, I know, but why?"

"Who knows? Too much traffic right now, probably."

Finally the plane began its steep descent, touching a little hard.

"Urp. My heart's in my throat!" Exclaimed Frohike.

The sucker popped out. "Hope it's not your stomach in your throat!"

Disembarking, they could see the reason for the delay: there were picketers carrying signs, camped out on one of the runways. The first of them were just being led away by the police.

"Interesting." Said Langly.

"This is San Francisco. Home of Berkeley," said Frohike, nodding sagely.

Langly laughed. "Now, that made sense."

"Children," said Byers mildly. "Yes, Northern California is the home of the protest march."

Once inside the terminal, which was bigger even than Dulles', the Lone Gunmen collected their bags and were driven in a shuttle to their waiting car.

"Say, nice choice, Byers!" Langly said approvingly. It was a Lexus.

"Hey guys," said Frohike, taking a seat in back, enjoying the softness of the leather. "I had no idea we could afford it."

"Yes, Frohike, that Microsoft project we finished last week netted us in the seven figures." Frohike whistled. "Does this mean we're rich?"

Langly waved his sucker. "No, it means we're poor. Pretending to be rich. Yes, we're rich, Frohike. Enjoy it."

A few miles passed. They were starting up the grade to the Santa Cruz Mountains. "Langly?"

"Frohike."

"Does Byers know where he's going?"

"I dunno, I'll ask him."

"Yes, I know where we're going," Byers sighed. " I used Yahoo maps."

Langly turned around in his seat and pulled out his sucker. "He's crazy," he mouthed.

*************************************************

At eight P.M. there came a knock on the door of the Scully/Mulder/White residence. It was answered by Mulder, cradling a goblet of chardonnay in one hand. "We don't want an-" he started to say, then took in his three visitors. "Frohike!" He crowed. "Byers! Langly! Come in, come in! Have a seat! Here, I'll get you some wine!" "Scully! White! Come on down! We've got visitors!" He shouted upstairs. 

Scully's small serious face appeared at the top of the steps, then White's close behind her. "You three! Well, you've been very naughty, but--it's wonderful to see you!" She ran downstairs and covered the trio in kisses and hugs. White grinned. 

"The thing about Krycek?" he said. "I only wish you'd have done the job right!" He hugged them, too. Then Mulder hugged them. "Wine for all of you?" he asked. "Just a Coke for me, please! Said Frohike. "Quiche, anyone? Bread? Salad?" asked Mulder from the kitchen.

He returned with platters of the stuff and set it down on the coffee table and end tables. "Now," said Scully, "to what do we owe the quite considerable pleasure of this unexpected visit?"

Byers cleared his throat. "Mulder knows. He called us. Left a voicemail."

Mulder looked at them in astonishment. "I did what?"

"You called us, remember?" Asked Langly, removing his sucker from its accustomed place in his face and stuffing a piece of crusty French bread in instead.

Mulder shook his head. "No, I don't remember. I really don't!" He exclaimed. "I don't understand this. What is going on?"

"I have it on microcassette," said Frohike, and played it for them. "Frohike, this is Mulder. Please tell the guys to come out to 100 Steamer's Lane in Santa Cruz, California at once. We are in the direst need of your help."

Mulder laughed. "That sure sounds like my voice, but I didn't place the call."

"Then who did?" asked Langly, taking a swig of chardonnay and cramming in a hunk of quiche at the same time. Everyone looked at everyone else.

Mulder shifted in his seat. "Look, guys...and, uh, gal...we've had some pretty uncanny things going on around here. White, I'm gonna go ahead and tell them. They will do no harm."

"Well, if they have another plot to blow up Krycek, maybe I could give them a few lessons in making a bomb," said White, genially.

Everyone except Mulder laughed, and the ice was good and broken. They talked long into the evening, consuming the rest of the dinner, tons of hors d'oeuvres-ish things and drinking Coke, chardonnay, and weird Daiquiris made from odds and ends from the kitchen, when the chardonnay ran out.

When 12:00 rolled around and Langly yawned and announced that he was going to turn into a pumpkin, Mulder asked them to stay. Langly and Frohike were to share a good-sized room, and Byers had one to himself.

"Cool it, will ya?" he asked Scully, on the way upstairs. She looked at him innocently.

"You know what I mean. Screw like crazed weasels, but keep the decibels down."

"OK," she said. 

Mulder flopped onto his bed and reached for the phone.

"Alex?"

"No, this is Bill Runningwater. Would you like to speak to Alex?"

"Please." A moment later Krycek came on the line.

"Lisitsa," he breathed huskily. Mulder could feel his groin begin to stir. "My love. What are you doing up?"

"You'd know better than anyone, Alex."

"Thinking of me?" Mulder turned on his back and began rubbing his basket.

"Yes, I am. I'm thinking of...when we're in each others' arms...I'm thinking of fucking you, and being fucked. Of sucking you, and being sucked." Krycek groaned. "I have my cock out, Mulder. I'm rubbing it, thinking of you...thinking of your lips, your tongue, your mouth on my cock. Of fucking your head, Mulder. Take yours out."

"It's coming out!" said Mulder, gasping, pulling down the zipper so fast he nearly jammed it in himself. "It's out, Alex!"

"Good! Now I want you to rub it, as I am, in a way that makes you feel good."

Mulder grasped his cock and began to slide his hand up and down on himself. "That feels really good, Alex! Are you sucking me?"

"I'm sucking you, Mulder. I'm sucking you so hard and so good you can't stand it!"

Krycek masturbated along with Mulder. "Are you sucking me, too, Mulder?"

"Yes. Ah.. YES!" and he shot hot fluid all over his chest. "Alex?"

"Did you come?"

"Yes. Did you?"

"By and by," said Alex, and yelped his orgasm, spilling onto the coffee table, the couch, and the floor.

"You'd better clean that up yourself," commented Bill Runningwater.

"Alex?"

"Yes?"

"I love you, Alex."

"I know. And I love you too, Mulder."

Silence. "Alex?"

"Yes, lisa?"

"Scully and White have lifted the house arrest. I can come and go as I please"

"And come, and come!" said Alex with a chuckle. "Yes, that's wonderful, Mulder. I knew they'd come around sooner or later...so when are you going to come around here, next? We should go to the Boardwalk."

"The Boardwalk?" Mulder puzzled. "Isn't that for kids?"

"And really twisted adults. Not to mention bent ones."

"I dunno," Mulder said doubtfully. "What is there to do?"

"Well, there's the Fun House, the rides - do you know that before the super-coasters moved in, that Santa Cruz roller coaster was ranked top ten in the world -- and there're bad but good things to eat. Plus all those babes on the beach."

Mulder laughed. "The ones named Michael or Rob?"

"My lisa, if I see you going behind my back, I shall commit ceremonial suicide."

*************************************************

"Langly."

"Frohike."

"Why do we always have to share a room?"

"I dunno. Just works out that way. Hell, we all three have to share a bathroom, so don't feel so bad!"

"Langly?"

Big sigh. "Frohike."

"This business with Alex Krycek, with Mulder seeing him, doesn't sit at all well with me. He-he's in love and all that, and he's likely to spill our secrets."

"Give him a chance. He may have better judgment than we think."

"OK.. Langly?"

"Frohike."

"The stuff with the call that Mulder made. I've been thinking." Frohike sat up in bed and put his thick glasses on so that he could better see who he was talking to. "I've been thinking that we ought to run that tape through a sound spectrograph. But ours is back in Georgetown!"

"You forgot," said Langly, "about UC Santa Cruz. Bet they'd have one in the physics lab."

"You're right!" Frohike exclaimed. "Let's do it tomorrow, OK?"

"OK, we'll swing by there and see if they're open. They're still between sessions, remember."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, good night, Langly."

"G'night, Frohike!"

*************************************************

The day dawned grey with fog. Scully, looking out the kitchen window at Steamer's Lane, clucked. "What is it?" her lover asked.

"Look. Completely fogged over."

"Oh, well, you know that'll burn off."

"Yeah, I know, but in the meantime...I wanted to drive up and down the coast taking pictures. I start work at the Student Health center tomorrow."

"Aw," said White, encircling her from the rear. "Poor baby! That's just a few hours a week, isn't it? There'll be plenty of other photo ops."

She smirked at him. "Watch where you point that thing!"

Mulder came sleepily down the stairs. "Hey! Guys!" he called. "It's six o'clock in the morning, guys! Knock it off! Geez!" He went into the refrigerator and poured himself a glass of apple juice. "Where're the Lone Gunmen?"

"What are you guys planning to do today?" Asked Scully. "Besides saving our lives, I mean?"

"We thought we'd check out the physics lab." began Frohike, cautiously.

"What, just to look at it? What do you guys have in mind?"

"Er..." said Frohike. "We can't tell you that, Agent Scully. Not yet. If we get a positive..er...reading, then we'll tell you all about it."

"Well, now you've got me really curious." she said, sitting gracefully, with her chin on one hand. Frohike sighed, seeing her sit like that.

"Well..." he darted glances at the other two LG. "We're running that tape of 'Mulder' past some electronic equipment, trying to determine whether it was someone else who made the call."

She looked puzzled. "Haven't we already determined that? It wasn't, right?"

"It wasn't," said Mulder from the other side of the table. "Definitely, I would remember making a call like that. Or any call. You've got a sucker in your hair, Langly."

Scully laughed and came back wielding a scissors. "We'll just take care of that right now." Langly flinched. "Don't cut off too much!"

They ate breakfast in silence. "This is good!" said Frohike, wonderingly. "We're not used to eating this well!"

White smiled. "Why, thank you! Look forward to many more good meals here. You may stay here as long as you like."

When they'd left, Scully asked Mulder, "Mulder. Who made that phone call?"

"I just don't know. It could have been God, Scully."

"Maybe it was."

An hour later he received a call on his cell phone. "Lisitsa," the caller purred, breathy and husky.

"Mulder," he stated. "Alex, you're up early."

"This isn't early for me, my love. I rise with the dawn. Are we on for the Boardwalk?"

Mulder groaned inwardly. Oh God. "Yes, Alex, we are. Do we have to ride on the rides that make you puke?"

Krycek laughed. "Oh, no. We don't have to ride on any of 'em, if you don't want to. We'll spend a little time at the Boardwalk and then go have lunch on the wharf. Do you like oysters on the half shell?"

"Can't say I've had 'em."

"Really? I would've guessed that you had."

*************************************************

Mulder was only about two miles from the Boardwalk so he decided to walk it rather than fight traffic and parking. He met Krycek as arranged, at the Big Dipper. The younger man looked absolutely stunning in slim black jeans and a forest green shirt which picked up the color of his eyes. "God, Alex, I could just eat you up," Mulder said.

"Oh, would you?" Krycek asked. "Let's ride this roller coaster, OK? It'll be fun, I promise."

It wasn't exactly fun but at least it wasn't the horrifying experience it would have been had Mulder not kept his eyes squinched shut throughout. "You cheated," Krycek remarked afterward. 

"Well," Mulder remonstrated, "would you rather sit next to me puking my guts out or me with my eyes closed?"

"Yeah, OK. Let's get some great all-American type junk food...that cotton candy looks good!" They walked down the boardwalk eating hunks of the pink candy fluff. "Look! There's the arcade...there's an old gypsy lady who will tell you your fortune. There!"

They stopped in front of the mechanical gypsy and inserted four quarters. Whirring to life, she opened her eyes and bent over her crystal ball. A paper slip popped out. "For you!" Krycek said, handing the slip to Mulder.

"Someone tall, dark and handsome is thinking of you!" He read. Krycek chortled.

"You don't have a self-esteem problem or anything, do you?" Mulder asked, plugging in four more quarters.. Whirr, humm. The eyes opening, and the slip of paper. Krycek picked it up. Then he shook his head, crumpled it into a ball and tossed it at a nearby trash receptacle. "Hey, Alex, no fair! I have to see what it says!" He picked up the paper and uncrumpled it. "You have a date with destiny shortly." Mulder laughed. "Hey, Alex! It's just one of these dumb cryptic fortune-cookie things!"

Krycek was shaking his head. "The Gypsy always knows what she's talking about," he said solemnly.

"Is there a fun house or something like that?"

"Sure, let's go," and they walked arm in arm to the fun house. Mulder most liked the Hall of Mirrors, but he did manage to get a little lost.

"What's the matter, forgot your breadcrumbs?" Krycek asked, and punched Mulder gently in the arm. "I think we'll try one more ride, the Tilt-a-Whirl."

Mulder groaned. "That's the Whirl-a-go-puke, as far as I'm concerned."

"OK, dude, no prob. We'll go out on the Wharf now, go get some seafood," Krycek said, smiling. 

The Wharf allowed traffic and parking, but they could see that it could become very congested. On their way they passed crab fishermen with cages. "How do you catch 'em?" Asked Mulder of a fisherman. "Oh, just bait 'em and put 'em down into the water. When we catch a crab," he said, demonstrating to the two young men, "We tear off a claw, like so" -- he ripped off a claw --"and throw the crab back. He'll grow another claw."

Mulder made a face. "Oh, gross! Do we have to have crab, Alex?"

They passed many people, young and old, on the Wharf. One was a young girl with flowing blonde locks and pale skin. Her head was bent down over her hands, which were long and slender, the hands of a pianist maybe. "Sharon?" Mulder asked with surprise, and the girl looked up and smiled sweetly. 

"Mulder! Lexy! Nice to see you here!"

"'Lexy'?" Mulder asked Krycek, quirking a brow at him.

"What brings you here, Sharon? Enjoying the sun and fun, etc.?" Krycek asked.

"Well, I'm...I'm meditating. I received a ..an impression that someone was in trouble, or shortly would be, and that my presence was needed."

Mulder shook his head. "By whom?"

Just then there was a mighty splash and all three looked up in alarm. "My baby! My boy! My baby! He'll drown!" A woman screamed. Mulder and Krycek ran to the edge of the pier and looked down. A young boy, perhaps 10, bobbed in the waves.

"He can't sw-" said the mother, and then Sharon Green executed a perfect swan dive off the pier. Surfacing, she swam to the boy, grasped him in a rescue hold, and swam to shore. Her arrival was treated to a loud round of clapping. She deposited the boy on the sand. His mother ran down the pier, screaming and sobbing. "My boy! My Tony! He's alive! He's alive! Oh, he's alive!" The boy began sobbing mightily, now that he was out of danger. Sharon distanced herself from the little tableau, standing at the shore end of the Wharf.

Mulder and Krycek ran up to her. "I don't believe it! I don't fuckin' believe it!" shouted Mulder. "Do you realize what you just did?"

She nodded, slowly. "Yes. You see, I am a strong swimmer and it was necessary that I be there when the boy fell into the ocean."

"'It was necessary'?" asked Mulder. "You knew that this was going to happen?"

She shook her head. "No, only that SOMETHING was going to happen." She smiled at them. She was soaked stem to stern, her hair streaming and her shorts dripping onto the sand.

"Would you like to come with us to lunch? Please be our guest?" asked Krycek.

"Thank you, Lexy, but as you can see I can't go into a restaurant like this."

"We'll buy something to go, then, and eat on a bench on the beach."

She smiled. "That would be lovely."

They bought fried clams, clam chowder, shrimp cocktails, crab sandwiches (even though Mulder said "eewww" to this), chips and paper cups of beer and shared them around. For such a thin girl, Sharon had a healthy appetite. "I love seafood," she enthused.

"You know, Sharon," Mulder said, downing a fried clam, "You're amazing. Brains, beauty, courage, athleticism, supernatural powers -- you're the kind of girl I could really go for, if only I weren't gay."

"That's a BIG if," she giggled, licking a finger.

They sat and looked at the ocean afterwards. "I never get tired of looking at this, at hearing this," said Krycek. The others nodded assent. "It's beautiful," said Mulder.

"I think I'm pretty spoiled," Sharon said. "I've lived here for several years, have had lots of ocean-gazing opportunities."

Krycek grinned at her. "But it never gets old, does it?"

She shook her head. "No," she said quietly.

Sharon sat deep in thought. She ought to tell them about the inverted cross that had "plinked" out of the sky at her. "Guys," she said, "I've got something uncanny to tell you. Yesterday I walked into a freak rainstorm, localized just on campus, and this inverted cross came falling out of the air. Gold, with some engraving I can't read. Then when I decided not to take the cross, a...being of light, an angel I suppose, came to me and told me I must harbor it. Before I send it back to its dark master."

They listened to her account, riveted, then their stories poured out.

"It is an evil thing, made by a greater evil," she remarked. "But it can't do any harm to me, or with me, I think."

"Are you an angel?" Mulder asked in awe.

She shook her head. "Nope. I've got all the regular human frailties. Been divorced twice, smoke, get the stomach flu, experience the range of human emotions, etc."

"Do you have children?"

"Oh, heavens, no! What would such as I do with children? I have not been...blessed that way, at least not yet." She cast her eyes down, picking up a mussel shell. "It's pretty, isn't it? No, no children for me. I don't have a boyfriend either. Mine is the spiritual path."

"Pretty ascetic, isn't it?" Mulder asked.

She smiled. "No, not at all. You saw how I ate that lunch! I have plenty to appease my senses!"

Krycek stood up. "Well, Sharon, it's time for us to be moving on. It's been a delight and a moving experience running into you."

"Yes, it really has, Sharon," Mulder smiled. "Do you think we should set up another meeting?"

"It will set itself up," she said serenely.

As Krycek and Mulder walked back to Krycek's car, which was parked in a metered space, Mulder shook his head. "She's the most amazing thing in the shape of a person I've ever met or ever expect to meet. Present company excluded, of course," he said, touching Krycek's face. "I just think she's like some kind of angel."

They got into the Porsche and Krycek fired it up. "What she's like, Mulder, is a deva."

"And what is that?"

"Devas are nature spirits, sprites, like minor angels. The word comes from the Hindu religion, I believe."

"Beauty and brains," said Mulder, ruffling Krycek's spiky hair. "I'm glad I married you, Alex."

*************************************************

Scully finally got her sunshine around noon and she went out with White photographing the coastline. "You know, David," she said, walking up a rocky path from the beach, her red locks blowing around her face, "this is the first time since I've come to California that I feel normal."

He nodded. "I think I understand what you mean. Body after body is bound to get pretty monotonous."

"Well, it's not just that," she said, adjusting for glare on her Nikon. "That's a pretty scene, right there, through the rocks, don't you think so?"

He nodded. "But you're the artist."

She laughed. "No, I'm not an artist, just an amateur. What I was going to say is that it's not just the murders that have laid a pall on the whole place for me. It's the acey-spacey New Age stuff, not that Sharon isn't a charming girl -- don't grin when I say that -- and the witch and devil stuff, and the uncanny stuff that's been happening. You know?"

He looked serious. "Yes, I do know. In all my years doing police work this is the scariest, this is the spookiest case I've ever been on. I thought the last one was a doozy, but it was NOTHING compared to this one! The major hassle of the last one had mainly to do with that royal pain in the ass, Alex Krycek."

"Yeah. Oh, there's a great shot!" The shutter clicked. "Speaking of Alex Krycek, something tells me that he's gonna continue to make a pain of himself...I know Mulder is crazy about him, but leopards can't change their spots and all that."

"Wow, look at that one with the tree and the iceplant, David!" the shutter whirred again. "I'm really getting into this."

He nodded, to the Krycek comment. "I wish there were some kind and gentle, bloodless way of wiping Krycek off the planet. He is a mistake. I'll bet he was born bad."

Scully smiled. "Well, no one is born bad. But I bet he bit other kids and hit his mama."

"Sheesh!" said White. "I'll bet his daddy placed an Uzi in his hands for his third birthday."

"I'll bet he scored 100% on the Psychopathic Deviate scale of the MMPI when he turned 4."

White grinned. "This is fun! Right now, little Scully, I am so turned on I could take you behind that sand dune."

She smirked. "Talking about baby Krycek turned you on?"

"No, your presence, my pretty Dana! Let's just..."

"David! Use some judgment! This is a public beach!"

"All the better."

She stood, arms akimbo. "So it's finally happened. You've lost your marbles. Did they roll out through that hole in your head?"

He smiled at her, took her in his arms and kissed her. "Damn, you're a good kisser!" she whispered.

They drove further up the coast and had lunch at a restaurant called "Duarte's" in a little country town named Pescadero.

"That's 'DOO-arts,' the waitress informed them. "I recommend the cream of artichoke soup and fried calamari."

Scully smiled. "Sounds good!"

They watched as the restaurant filled up: one older couple, one young student-ish man, and a group of bikers in full club regalia. Scully turned to White. "Local color," she whispered. Then she froze. One of the bikers had tattooed on his arm an inverted pentagram. "David, look," she said. "Look at his arm."

White tried to be cool about glancing over. "Yes, I see it," he said calmly, and shook his head.

The cream of artichoke soup arrived, and they tried it. "This is really good!" Scully said. "I think I'll go over and talk to that biker."

White's hand strayed to his Sig Sauer in its shoulder holster. "No, don't do that!"

"Why not? I just need to find out about that tattoo."

"What about that tattoo?"

She rolled her eyes. "David. You know. I need to know whether he belongs to any Satanic cult around here."

"Well go ahead, I've got you covered," White said, slowly pulling the pistol out.

Scully walked over to the bikers' tables. "Good afternoon, gentlemen," she said, smiling broadly.

Conversation stopped, and they looked up. One of them whistled. "What is it you want, pretty lady?" asked Tattoo. "Hell, you can have me if you want me!" There was laughter.

She bent down a little. "I'm interested in your arm."

"You're interested in my arm? Here it is, little lady!" And Tattoo snaked his beefy arm around Scully's waist. Scully tried to squirm out of his grip, but Tattoo had her fast. White leaped to his feet, drawing his Sig.

"Let her go! Now!" he said tensely. Tattoo looked at Scully, looked at the gun, and let her go with a sigh. "You sure are a pretty lady, even if you have a skinny cop boyfriend. The Church of Satan," he shouted after her, "meets the third Thursday of the month. In Santa Cruz. We're in the book!"

Scully looked at him. White hurriedly paid the check and ushered them both back onto the street. The bikers' vehicles were closely parked, all in a row. Scully thought of dominoes. "That was a close call," she said. "But we found out what we wanted to know. Do you suppose that what they mean by 'book' is the phone directory?"

White nodded curtly. "Could be," he said.

*************************************************

The three Lone Gunmen hunched furtively together over the bank of PCs and peripherals in the UCSC physics lab. They weren't exactly supposed to be here. The labs were closed, and the LG used their "universal key card" to, well, 'break in' would be the operative term.

"Look at that," breathed Frohike.

"Doesn't look human," remarked Langly.

"You don't look human either, Langly."

Glare. "The harmonics are wrong."

"Look at this waveform," said Byers. "Out of range of the human voice. Yet we can hear it as such," he said in wonder, as the speakers repeated, "Frohike, this is Mulder. Please tell the guys to come out to 100 Steamer's Lane in Santa Cruz, California at once. We are in the direst need of your help." But it wasn't in Mulder's tones. It was a deep, sonorous voice that resonated from the speakers.

"What do we tell the guys?" Asked Frohike.

*************************************************

At 3:00 P.M., they packed up their odds and ends and left, warily, by the back door. "This is beautiful," said Frohike, indicating the redwood forest. Byers nodded. 

There was just enough time for the rushing form to register itself upon their visual cortices when the dog leaped straight for Byers. He staggered aside as the wolvish head with bared yellow teeth went for his throat. "Run!" he yelled in a strangled voice. "But--" said Frohike. He looked wildly at Langly. "Here it comes again!" The animal charged this time at Langly, jaws open, slavering. And then suddenly there was no dog, or wolf. Just the breeze fluttering the redwoods' boughs. Byers, with the help of Langly and Frohike, picked himself up. "What?" Asked Byers. "What?"

They heard the lab's back door open and looked up. A very handsome young man, tall and muscular with a neat beard and mustache and black hair, stood munching an apple. "Hey guys," he called easily, taking another bite of apple. "Whatcha doing?"

"Hey, there was this wolf!" "A rabid dog tried to kill us!" "We were attacked and almost killed!" They all shouted at once.

"Hey, boys, take it one at a time! You said there was a wolf, or dog?"

"Yes, and it almost killed a couple of us!" Said Byers.

"I've seen a lot, but I've never seen anything like that in these hills," the man remarked, finishing his apple and throwing the core on the path behind him. Litterbug, thought Frohike. "If you want, I can take a report and we'll get it worked out with the authorities."

"I do want," said Byers. "There was a large grayish dog, possibly a wolf, which rushed me and Langly here and made as if to kill us by tearing out our throats."

The strange man nodded and stepped down the path toward them. "Duly noted," he said, "I'll make the report posthaste. I'm Jason, by the way," he said, extending his hand. They made introductions around. Frohike noted that his hand was quite warm. "You've been in the lab," Jason said. It was not a judgment, just a statement. He looked at Byers, but the older man looked down at his feet.

"I know you've got a tape that you made in the lab, as well as printouts," the man continued smoothly. "I'd like to have them back. They're lab property." He advanced toward Frohike, who took a step backward, then stumbled. The man rushed him and knocked him down. Langly and Byers ran to Frohike's aid, but Jason just batted them away like mosquitoes. He grabbed the tape and some of the printouts and stuck them into an inside pocket in his jacket.

A woman's clear melodic voice could now be heard raised in beautiful but unfamiliar song, and Sharon Green walked up the path to them. "Jason," she said imperiously, "you will give them back the tape and bother them no more!"

The man actually shook. "I-I was just about to give it back," he said lamely. He handed the tape back to Frohike, who inspected it suspiciously, as if for damage.

When they looked up again, the man was gone, and just the woman was standing there. "Who are you?" Asked Byers.

"I'm Sharon Green," she said, extending a hand. "Grad student, general factotum of the psych department, and friend of Mulder. And you are the Lone Gunmen. I've heard about you. Byers, Langly, and Frohike, right?"

"Who was that, that Jason guy? And before him, there was a dog that attacked us."

She rolled her eyes. "Jason is my ex, and he's a shapeshifter. That dog was probably him. He practices the Black Arts, and he likes to keep a hand in."

"A what?"

"A shapeshifter. Able to change physical form. Come, walk back with me to my house."

They fell into step alongside her. "We heard about you," ventured Langly. He kept cutting his eyes at her and it was obvious to Frohike that he was already completely gone on the girl.

"Oh, from Mulder?"

"Yeah. You're part of the 'uncanny things' that have been going on around here, he said."

"I just had lunch with him. Him and Al--I mean, nobody," she said.

"Al, Alan, Alice, Allison, Alex," Byers said. "You had lunch with Alex Krycek?"

"Mr. Krycek is a close personal friend of mine," she said. "But that's not important. What is important is that we are here, walking across this beautiful campus on a gorgeous day. Yes?"

"Yes," they chorused. "But how could you be close friends with someone like Alex Krycek?" whined Frohike. "I mean, he's the Enemy. We even tried to b--" Byers hushed him fiercely.

"What, you even tried to blow him up with a bomb that didn't work?" Asked Sharon in amusement. "Well, let me tell you that he is not the Enemy. He may have a history that is less than kosher, and some of his associations may be none too savory, but he is a follower of the Light, as you are. So much so that he has endured, and will, I think, endure great suffering, partly because his motives are mistaken for bad ones."

"Hey, this Light," said Langly. "Is this, like, God?"

Sharon appeared to consider. "Essentially, yes," she said slowly. "Though I would not limit this being by gender, and I am here to tell you that he/she does not have a long white beard and long robes... as much as I like Michelangelo!"

They laughed. She turned and faced them. "This is the turnoff to my house. We go down that path--" she indicated "--through that big field, another big field and there you are! Now, you may choose to come with me -- I'm sure we have lots to talk about -- or to go back with your friends. I think it is very important that you take the tape and printouts back to their house as soon as possible. They're evidence. I'll be with you by-and-by. Just take another path, that one, back to the parking lot. OK?"

They thanked her and left toward the parking lot. Evidence of what? "Enigma wrapped in a mystery," breathed Frohike, looking back toward her graceful retreating form.

*************************************************

Not only did everyone arrive at the house on Steamer's at the same time, MORE than everyone arrived, the additional person being, of course, Alex Krycek. After it registered on Scully, White and the Lone Gunmen that he was there, they all looked at him for a long moment, then at one another. Then they all started talking at once, with the exception of Krycek, who took a seat on the sofa, although he did not take off his jacket. Small Scully jumped up and down, waving her hands back and forth above her head, crying shrilly, "Summit! Summit! SUMMIT!" and the talk lessened to a murmur.

When she was sure that she had everyone's attention, she said, "OK, guys! We've got an extra person in our midst, and we need to take a vote on whether or not he stays! I vote 'no'," she said, sitting down.

There was a silence, then Mulder stood up, "I vote that we not put this to a vote for a moment. We all know that Alex is not the most popular person with some of you. We also know that he is involved in this case, and that any discussion of the case that doesn't include him may be seriously and even dangerously incomplete."

"We just arrested this man the other day for numerous felonies!" said White irritably.

"Yes, and he was immediately cleared of them!" said Mulder.

Scully looked at him showing a lot more than usual of the whites of her big blues. "Mulder, you know that's because Krycek works for that man, C.G.B. Spender, the Big Daddy of all crime bosses," she complained. She was about to say more but Krycek looked at her with a strange and unreadable expression -- she thought she read despair in those eyes -- and she faltered and looked down.

"Yeah! And he's a double agent and a liar and betrayer, and not to be trusted. And a murderer," put in Frohike. Krycek looked at him keenly, but said nothing.

"Frohike, you were the one, along with Langly and Byers who plotted to murder him! With a bomb that, thank God, didn't work! You should all be ashamed of yourselves!" Mulder exclaimed. The Gunmen studied their shoes. Langly decided his six-year-old tennies could stand a wash.

"Folks," began Mulder, "isn't this like the case of the woman who was taken in adultery? 'Let ye who has never sinned cast the first stone'?" They all crossed and recrossed their legs, shuffled their feet and cast furtive glances at each other. "Yes, this man has sinned, and yes, he has sinned in ways that offend us -- but you all," indicating the room with a broad sweep of his arm, "have all done bad things. Most of us have broken the law in some fashion. Alex is here today to contribute to the knowledge pool. He is here to share his experiences. He is here to support you, yes, each and every one of you. He should not be left out."

Much whispered conferring. Many glances at Krycek.

Scully rose to her feet and cleared her throat. At that moment the doorbell rang. "Oh--" she began, "Someone answer the door, please!" It was Sharon Green and Bill Runningwater, having arrived separately but simultaneously. They were welcomed and Bill was introduced as a "great Navajo chief," but he declined this appellation, preferring simply to be known as "Alex's friend."

"OK, the vote," Scully said, standing up again, "will be done by secret ballot. David, please go get a sheet of paper and a shoebox or something, thanks. I'll be passing around slips of paper and pencils. Write "yes" or "no" on your ballot and drop it in the box. Up for vote is Alex Krycek's membership in this group. Vote to be carried by a simple majority, and Alex, please step into the hall for a moment." He nodded and walked into the hallway, catching Runningwater's wink as he did so.

Scully passed the papers around and people scribbled furiously but briefly, dropping the ballots into the box then looking around at each other nervously.

"David, will you please count the ballots? Thank you, and ... the result is unanimous: Alex Krycek is in! Alex! Get your butt back in here! You're in!"

I don't forgive you, Krycek. But it could happen, she thought, and shook his hand. Even White unbent for a moment and clapped him on the back. "Speech," shouted Bill Runningwater. Krycek grinned.

"I just want you all to know that I really appreciate your trust in me, and that I will do my best to uphold it," he said simply, and sat down between Mulder, who squeezed his hand, and Runningwater, who just smiled.

"Mr. Runningwater, you're new to this group, care to say a few things?" Scully asked Bill. He stood up. "My name is Bill. I am mostly here to support Alex although the case does interest me," he said, and sat down. Scully smiled at him.

"Let's not be formal, anymore, folks!" White said. "We want to hear how everyone's day has been...all that you can remember could be relevant."

He and Scully spoke of their run-in with the biker gang with Satanic tie-ins. The Lone Gunmen presented their data; Mulder said flatly that the voice was obviously of supernatural origin. Frohike brought up the matter of the "shapeshifting" gentleman who tried to get the data away from him. Bill Runningwater was particularly interested in this. "Is Jason Navajo, by any chance?" he asked. 

"No, he's not, although he's part Mexican," Sharon offered.

"I ask because among Navajos, there exist the dreaded "skinwalkers" who are witches and shapeshifters," commented the Indian. "They've been known for thousands of years. They have enormous powers, and only a great sorcerer, or sorceress, can hope to prevail against them. You, young lady," he said, looking at Sharon Green, "are evidently able to do this."

"Hey, he's my ex-husband; what can I say?" said she, and everyone laughed.

Krycek described his conversation with the priest of the Left Hand Way. Then he passed around the brochure he'd been given by the goth girl at the record store.

Finally Mulder, Krycek and Sharon reiterated their run-ins with the inverted cross.

"That is an old anti-Christian symbol dating from the Middle Ages," commented Byers. Someone else argued that it went back earlier than that, that the symbol actually predated Christianity.

"We'll ask our guru," sand Langly, looking at Sharon. She shifted, tucking in both feet under her peasant skirt. "I don't know that I'm a guru, but I think I can say that the inverted cross has been both a symbol of St. Peter, who asked to be crucified upside down out of humility to Christ, and of...the AntiChrist. But this AntiChrist is only a face, an aspect, of the One Great Evil, the Enemy of all peoples, of all faiths..." Her voice trailed off as she played with a pendant.

Scully broke the silence. "Well!" She said brightly. "I'll bet we're all hungry and thirsty, so David has put together something that resembles food. We have chips and dips, salsa, veggies, garlic bread, a cheese fondue, cold chicken, cookies, white wine and soda for the folks who don't drink." 

They all trooped toward the kitchen to grab some munchies. Frohike accidentally bumped into Krycek at the fondue pot. "I'm sorry!" He murmured. Then he straightened up to his full 4'6" and looked the tall elegant man in the eye. "Krycek, I'm just ... really, awfully sorry that we...uh, that I tried to blow you up!"

Krycek looked back at him with his large glowing green eyes for a moment. "I forgive you," he said solemnly, and popped a carrot stick into his mouth.

Mulder jabbed him in the right rib. "OW!"

"Serves you right for trying to make time with my friends!"

"Hey, Mulder."

"Yeah?" said Mulder, stuffing his face with blue corn chips and salsa with one hand while balancing a tall crystal goblet full of something that sparkled, in the other.

Krycek turned to him and, eyes alight, worked the carrot stick into and out of his mouth, quickly.

"Aw, sheesh," groaned Bill Runningwater, standing to Krycek's left. 

"Hey, Alex," Mulder said, whispering into Krycek's right ear, "wanna go upstairs and fuck?" Krycek's face was suddenly wreathed in smiles.

"Yes, lisitsa, the sooner the better," he murmured.

"It's the first room on the left. We have a private bath, you know," Mulder whispered.

Mulder grabbed a couple more chips, refilled his sparkling wine and headed upstairs. Krycek nonchalantly ate some fondue, smiled at Langly (who didn't look happy at this), filled a glass then followed him in a couple of minutes. Long years of espionage had taught him to never get caught with his pants down.

"Mulder, this is nice!" he said softly, taking in the little upstairs room decorated with rattan and yards and yards of chintz.

"Yeah. Skinner had it furnished especially for us, can you believe it?"

"Speaking of Skinner," Krycek said, moving around the room and finally shedding his black leather jacket, "why wasn't he here tonight?"

Mulder shrugged. "This wasn't planned, and no one was invited. It was just this serendipitous confluence of minds and bodies. I guess, if Skinner wasn't here, it was because he wasn't meant to be here."

Krycek sat on the bed and licked Mulder's ear. "Gotta get you an earring, fella. And get your ring back! Anyway," he said, seriously, "Don't you think everything said tonight was germane to the case? Skinner's not gonna appreciate getting left way behind on this, Mulder."

"I'll call him tomorrow," Mulder said carelessly.

"He's gonna have a royal shit fit when he learns I'm in on it," Krycek said, grinning. "Old Skinhead. Boy, he hates me!" he shook his head.

"Anyway, lisitsa: am I invited for the night?"

Mulder looked at him, startled. "Of course you are. Why wouldn't you be?"

"Well," Krycek said, considering, "Someone might object."

Mulder smiled and leaned back against his pile of pillows. "Someone in the person of a Scully or White, do you mean? Don't worry about them. While you're a guest under our roof you're entitled to our hospitality."

"Thank you, lisa." Krycek, most of his shirt unbuttoned, leaned over Mulder and kissed him. Mulder felt something like an electric shock travel from lips to groin, and his cock stirred. Krycek's tongue explored Mulder's mouth and his own tongue, then traveled down to his lips, biting and sucking Mulder's full, pouty lower lip. Moving at a leisurely pace, he kissed Mulder's face, his ears, his graceful throat, down to his clavicle; he unbuttoned his shirt; his chest; he tongued his nipples till they stood up hard; he licked down the center of Mulder's chest, licked his navel --

"Mulder, take your jeans off." It was a command. Mulder groaned and sat up, shucking his jeans and shorts as quickly as he could. He had a huge throbbing hard-on. He lay back down on the bed -- and Krycek licked down his thighs and up his inner thighs and around his groin --

"Alex, suck me, suck me!" Mulder begged.

Krycek lapped just the tip of Mulder's cock. Mulder moaned. Krycek licked down the shaft and up it, then swallowed Mulder's cock from root to tip, his throat massaging the head while lips, mouth and tongue worked on the shaft. Mulder gasped and writhed. Krycek licked and sucked each of Mulder's balls in turn, then went back to his cock. "I love you," Krycek said, his mouth full of cock.

"Oh GOD I love you too Alex," Mulder croaked, and came in a rush of hot fluid that splashed the inside of Krycek's mouth and shot down his throat.

Krycek lay back on the bed next to Mulder and blew out air in a whoosh. Mulder looked adoringly over at him. "The most beautiful, most perfect man in the world," he said, "and you're mine. Mine!" Krycek smiled and him and kissed him, and Mulder tasted himself in the younger man's mouth.

"Want me to suck you off, Alex?" Mulder asked. Krycek rolled over, his eyes alight. "That's what I want for STARTERS, Mulder!"

Mulder arose. "Take your pants off, Alex, and I will!" Krycek tore off his jeans -- he wasn't wearing any shorts -- and Mulder helped him prop himself up against Mulder's prized store of pillows. "Spread your legs!"

Mulder kissed Alex deeply, moved down to his tender, slightly pointed ears, kissed the one with the earring extra-thoroughly, till Krycek giggled -- kissed his small tip-tilted nose, his perfect cupid's-bow lips, eyelids, long black lashes, delicate slanted brows, his neck, throat, chest and tongued and bit his nipples. Then his tongue slid in a sliding swath down to Krycek's navel, which was explored and kissed, then down all around his cock and balls without touching them, up and down his inner thighs, his perineal area, his anus. "If you don't suck me soon, Mulder, I'll come in your face," said Krycek flatly.

Mulder laughed. "It's like that, is it? Welll--" and he rubbed the head of Krycek's cock with his tongue, licked up and down the shaft. He'd gotten a good tempo going doing this and suddenly Krycek arched his back spasmodically and yelled his orgasm, coming in Mulder's face as promised. Mulder lay back. "Want to taste yourself?" He asked casually, rubbing a bit of come off with his finger and popping it in his mouth.

Krycek licked the rest of the come off Mulder's face, moaning and getting another hard erection. Mulder had, by this time, gotten hard himself.

*************************************************

Scully and White chose around this time to retire to the big master bedroom, second door from the left. They'd seen to it that their guests were comfortable - The Lone Gunmen, who had decided to set a spell and would have their rooms for as long as they wanted them, were conferring with Sharon Green, and every one of them was trying, in his own peculiar geeky way, to make time with her (she of course was being very polite) &#8211; and Sharon would spend the night on the larger of the two couches after the LG had gone to bed. Bill Runningwater had already departed for the house on Lamb Hill - he needed to feed the horses. Not to mention Baby the cat, who was probably this very moment, he thought while peeling out in the Old Man's Mercedes, crying at the back door to be let in. 

Everyone was through eating, but from the looks of things the drinking would continue for some time. Scully plugged the last bottle of sparkling wine and put it back in the fridge. White bustled around cleaning. Scully glanced upstairs. It seemed that for some time there had been these noises coming from upstairs. She shook her head and shrugged, trudging up the creaky wooden steps to her room.

"Night-night guys!" she called down from the balcony. White waved a hand at them without looking down. "Sharon, I set your bedding over there on the easy chair&#8230;Gunmen, guys, it's late&#8230;" She shook her head and smiled, then glanced over at the door from which the sounds were emanating. White followed her look. "Now, Dana," he began, and touched her gently on the shoulder.

"Do you believe that!" Scully hissed at White, some time later, as they lay in bed. She jabbed him in the arm. White grunted. He was just trying to sleep, and he'd dusted off his handy-dandy earplugs for the occasion. "They're in there screwing! Alex Krycek, under our roof and having the temerity to have sex with Mulder! Sex! And they're making so much noise I can't sleep! Aren't you going to --"

White looked at her, aggrieved. "Dana."

"Well, I just don't see how you can stand it, David! It isn't right! That Alex Krycek is lucky enough I allowed him into our house and into our meeting, without this! And--"

White rolled over to look at her. "Dana, put a sock in it," he intoned, then rolled back.

*************************************************

"Guess it's time to hit the hay, guys," said Byers mildly, glancing at his Timex Indiglo watch. "Ms. Green, it's been a delight talking to you. I especially appreciated our discussion on Aramaic semiotics." 

"And you're way hot, too!" said Langly, pushing back his glasses on his nose. Frohike rolled his eyes. 

"He means you're very pretty, ma'am," he said, and bowed over her slender hand. Due perhaps to Frohike's inebriated state, he leaned over so far that he actually toppled forward onto his flat little nose, coming to rest on the sofa cushion.

Langly hooted with laughter. Byers managed to look stern, but Sharon, biting her lip and looking down, finally succumbed and laughed, giggles and cackles and belly laughs, till she cried and had to sit on the floor suddenly.

"It wasn't that funny!" said Frohike with dignity, righting himself with difficulty.

"Dibs on the window bunk!" called Langly.

"The fuck you have!" muttered Frohike bitterly. "Hey, Byers! Settle this, will ya?" Byers turned around at the top of the stairs. "Switch off," he said brusquely. "The person with the window bed tonight must relinquish it tomorrow."

They settled into their room and Langly went to brush his teeth. Frohike sat with his knees drawn up to his chin. It was his fate to forever get involved with absolutely unreachable females. There was the bitchy but delectable Scully, for example, and this Sharon Green: an absolute knockout babe if there ever was one, and brilliant to boot. And completely inaccessible. Not just to him, either, he'd bet.

It was then that he really first began to hear the snarling, moaning animal-like sounds coming from across the hall. What? Had someone left a couple of cats in there or something?&#8230;. then he realized exactly what it was and he blushed scarlet. Langly strode in the door. Somehow, even the way he walked was geeky. He stuck his face in Frohike's, and the older man smelled toothpaste breath and masticated raspberry sucker. "Do you hear that, Froggy?" He gestured across the hall.

Frohike nodded dolorously. "People like that should be shot," said Langly, and unwrapped another sucker.

"I agree," he said, lying back on the bed. "Should we shoot 'em?"

*************************************************

"Into the bathroom," whispered Mulder. "More playtime," he said, by way of explanation. The bathroom had a fairly large tub with shower. There was a shower attachment, Mulder pointed out. "Get in," he said. Krycek got into the tub and Mulder began to run warm water into it. "Bubble bath," he said under his breath, and poured some in. "Now, Alex, turn around and put your ass in the air...that's it...scoot up this way...there!"

The stream of water was now directed at, around, and into Alex's ass, and the sensation was indescribable. He began to moan and writhe. "That feel about right? Guess so!" commented Mulder. He leaned over Krycek and grasped the younger man's cock, stroking it. "Does that feel even better? I thought so!"

Krycek raised his head, looked into Mulder's eyes, and came, spurting over Mulder's hand and into the water. Then he turned around and sat in the water. "That felt so good, lisitsa!" he purred in his husky/breathy voice. "What will we do for you?"

"What we'll do is this!" Said Mulder. He got into the water with Krycek and instructed the younger man to get on his hand and knees. Then he knelt behind him and took him doggy-style, shoving his slick cock into Krycek's heat. Krycek gasped and moaned. 

"Fuck me, Mulder, fuck me hard!" He begged. Mulder thrust his full length into Krycek and then back, thrusting in a rhythm which pleased them both. After a few minutes of this, Mulder came in a screaming rush, pleasure obliterating thought; and damned if he didn't discern through fogged senses that Krycek came again!

Afterward they relaxed in the bubble bath and floated Mulder's flotilla of rubber duckies. "Shower gel?" Asked Mulder. 

"Please."

"Here," and Mulder squeezed some onto a soft scrubby and began to rub Krycek's back, his chest, arm, legs, ass, cock and balls.

"That feels really good, lisa."

"It's supposed to. Now do me." Krycek gladly obliged.

"Hey, something's come up!" Mulder said wonderingly.

"Yeah, for me too! What should we do about it?"

"I'll fuck you, Mulder and jack you off while I'm doing it. Sound good?"

"It sounds GREAT! Let's get started! I'll lie on the bed with my hips propped up... you'll take me... here, I'll show you!" Mulder rose from the bath, dripping all over, and toweled off. "Like this," he said, demonstrating. "Come on, Alex, fuck me!"

Krycek rubbed himself with a towel. His erection was growing harder by the moment. He reached for his lube in the back pocket of his discarded jeans and slicked his cock. Then he rubbed lube on Mulder's tight ring of muscle. "I'm going straight in, Mulder, no preliminaries," he warned. Mulder was panting and it looked like his eyes were going to roll straight back in his head. Krycek knelt before Mulder, lodged his cockhead against the tight bud and shoved himself in. There was a strangled cry from Mulder.

"Hurt?" Asked Krycek.

"It's a good hurt, Alex! Keep going! Fuck me!" Mulder cried, writhing and bucking.

"I'll fuck you, lisa, till you can't sit down!" Krycek thrust with each syllable till Mulder thought he would go mad. Krycek fucked him till Mulder saw stars. He came with a ragged, tearing scream, spurting all over his and Krycek's bellies. A moment later, Krycek, incredibly turned on by Mulder's orgasm, had his own, adding his screams to Mulder's.

They separated and fell back on the bed, panting. Mulder played with the come on Krycek's tummy. "I could bathe in it," he admitted. "Alex, I fuckin' love you, man!"

*************************************************

"Can you believe all that screaming? It's awful!" Scully complained bitterly. White stared obliviously into space. "I SAID--"

"I know what you said," he remarked coolly. "If you don't shut up, Dana Scully, I am going to have to take you over my knee and spank you!"

"Oh, would you?" she purred, immediately aroused. "Would you do it right now?"

He laughed. "If you keep on in that vein, I will."

"That's a promise?"

"Turn over." he said suddenly. "Turn. Over. Now. I'm gonna take you, Dana." He swept back her nightgown and mounted her. "Keep your face in the pillows. That's right. Oh, God. Does this feel good, honey? Does it feel good to have my dick inside you?"

"Mmglthp," said Scully into the pillow.

He stroked hard inside her. "I'm not gonna last, babe. I--" and he leaned his head back and yelled his orgasm. Shortly after, she had hers, screaming into the pillows.

They separated and lay on the bed, facing. "I love you so much," he breathed, kissing her pretty face, her full lips, delicate nose, her beautiful, fragrant hair. "I love you too," she said, looking into his eyes adoringly, blue ice and blue fire.

"Hey, fuck those two in the next room!" he said. "We've got our own world, you and I. No one can ever wreck it."

"Including Walter Skinner?" she asked drily.

He laughed. "Hey, the only way Skinner will ever find out is through a turncoat, a traitor in the ranks." Both thought briefly of Krycek, then dismissed the thought. Krycek would never do anything to further Skinner's aims. "We do have to call him tomorrow, though," he said thoughtfully, "to apprise him of the status of our investigation."

"When should we call him?" she asked.

"I'll call him first thing tomorrow. He's an early riser. Come to think of it, I can leave him a voice mail right now." He rose from the bed and grabbed the extension. "White." he said tersely. "AD, we've had an impromptu meeting this evening and we've learned a great deal that relates to the case. It is utterly certain that we are dealing with paranormal phenomena."

He replaced the phone in the receiver and got back into bed. Scully leaned over him and kissed him. "If I loved you any more than I do, I think I'd explode," she said.

*************************************************

Mulder and Krycek lay in bed, hands interlaced. "I love you so much, lisitsa. You make life living. My life is ugly when you're not around." And will be again, he thought desolately, in about 4 months.

"I love you, too," said Mulder. "And why is your life ugly?"

Krycek shook his head but would not answer.

Mulder turned to look at him. "I know why. It's working for that smoking bastard, isn't it?"

Krycek barely nodded. Mulder shook his head. "That makes me so angry! Can't you just stop working for him? Quit?"

Krycek swallowed. "No. I cannot."

"Why, are you an indentured servant?"

"Sort of, in a way. I am ... indebted to him...he has the goods on me...I can't leave."

"I know you have sex with him. Does he care for you, Alex, the way I do?"

Krycek looked at him sadly. "Not the way you do, no. But he does care, in his way."

Mulder shook his head. "Is it the money, Alex? What do you mean about having the goods on you?"

"He could have me arrested and put in jail for the rest of my life, for what I've done. Who do you think has kept me out of prison all these years? He knows everything I've done, all the evil acts...oh, I'll have to pay for 'em, someday...do you believe in karma? Sharon tells me by aiding your investigations I'm working off a lot of bad karma. But I digress. Yes, Mulder, the money is good. Really good to fabulous, actually. I am probably the highest-paid whore in the land."

He laughed, but it wasn't funny and Mulder was silent.

"You think of yourself as a whore, when he cares about you, as a lover I suppose?"

"Yes, he does regard me as a lover. Hot and cold running sex, that's me!"

"Are you just hanging out with me to 'work off bad karma'?"

Krycek sat up in bed, searching Mulder's face. "Fuck no! Mulder, I love you more than life! If I were to die, Mulder, as a result of being with you, I would choose you... and death...over life with no you. And it may come to that," he said softly, shaking his head. "Mulder, you are the alpha to my omega. You are the yang to my yin. You are the ..." "...meat to my potatoes?" Mulder asked innocently, and Krycek laughed.

"So," said Krycek, "Want to fuck again?"

"You are simply amazing. Yes, I do."

"Side by side. Spoon. That's it. I'm gonna fuck you now, Mulder." He shoved into Mulder, who groaned, and fucked him till they both came, Krycek shooting come deep into Mulder, Mulder splattering the bedclothes.

"I'll have to wash the bedspread, I guess," said Mulder mournfully.

Krycek chuckled. "It's too bad, isn't it? The price of sin!"

..is death, thought Mulder, who said nothing.

After a while, they fell asleep, curled together, limbs woven in a tangle.

*************************************************

Bill Runningwater lay in bed in the dark but could not sleep. After a while he got up and fixed himself a cup of cinnamon tea. When that didn't work, he sighed, knelt by the bed, and prayed: "Oh Great Spirit, please look kindly upon your humble petitioner," he began. He prayed for all his friends and relatives, for the Navajo tribe, and finally, for humankind. "Please help us fight this great evil that has recently arisen again. Give those of your chosen, Sharon Green and others, the power to overcome it. Great Spirit, give me the courage to fulfill whatever role is mine, and please, a special prayer for my Alexei, a wild and wayward spirit who must be guided to the path of your choosing."

He bowed his head and when he looked up, beheld a vision: A slim young person standing in a field, beasts and children gathered around her, dressed in long white robes and holding a sceptre, a white hood hiding her face. She swept it back, and it was a woman, beautiful and powerful beyond imagining, with a lovely face and bright blonde locks. White light surrounded her, which seemed to emanate from her midsection. Runningwater looked in awe at the woman, then he blinked and she was gone. 

He shook his head, knowing that he had been privileged to witness Sharon as she really was. He wondered if, indeed, she really knew.

For some reason he found it easy to get to sleep now. He slept deeply, dreaming. He dreamed he was standing in a forest. Behind him, a black shape, huge and horrible, loomed. He was afraid to look at it. Ahead of him, the slim pale shape in white robes raised her sceptre. "Begone!" she said in a voice which shook the earth, and he fell to the ground.

He woke up at 6 with a call. "Krycek," the breathy voice purred. "Are you OK?"

"Yes, Alexei, why do you ask?"

"I had weird dreams."

"Did you? Geez, so did I! I couldn't get much rest... Is Mulder there with you?"

"He went to talk to Scully. She had screaming nightmares. The Gunmen are up too, and they look miserable! What a night!"

"Probably all that stuff we talked about last night...that'll do it!"

"Um-hm."

"Are you coming home today, Alexei?"

"I don't know. I might go check out this Satanic ritual thing."

Bill's voice registered alarm. "Oh, no! You mustn't do that under any circumstances!"

"Why not? It's part of this investigation, and it's part of the Old Man's investigation."

"Alexei, no! That's an order! Don't go! I fear you will be irreparably harmed!"

"I understand Sharon's going up against this thing," Krycek said casually.

"Is she? That could be too bad. But she is a mighty sorceress and she has a chance! You have none! You will be swallowed alive! Your life, your soul will be forfeit!"

"Are we being a bit dramatic here?" Krycek asked.

"We're being VERY dramatic here, to illustrate a point! DON'T GO!"

"Well, shit!" said Krycek.

"Did Sharon stay overnight?"

"Yeah, she did. Slept on the couch. Why?"

"Where is she?"

"Uh, she's outside, having a smoke."

"May I please speak to her?"

"Criminy," said Krycek pleasantly, but he went and fetched her.

"Yo," said Sharon.

"Sharon, I want you to forbid Alex from attending that Black Mass. Is there any way you could keep him with you?"

"Well, no one can force any free creature to do one's bidding, you know that, Bill."

"I know, but I...don't want him going! Do something!"

"I can suggest he and Mulder spend the evening at my house. We can eat sprout sandwiches and watch yoga videos...no, sorry to kid. There are plenty of things to do at my house. I will ask him over."

"Thank you!" said the Navajo chieftain fervently.

"Now here's Lexy back again," she remarked.

"Alexei."

"Yeah?"

"You and Mulder are to go over to Sharon's house this evening. She will provide food and entertainments. OK?"

Big sigh. "Shit, OK, whatever."

"OK, then, it's settled."

*************************************************

Mulder and Krycek came down to breakfast at 6:30. Scully was bustling around; it was her first day of work at the Student Health Center on campus. "You guys," she said, glancing over her shoulder at them, "are too much! You must have kept the whole household up all night long. I know you did White and I."

The tread of the Lone Gunmen could now be heard on the staircase. Scully looked at Mulder and Krycek. "David and I coped OK, but I think you owe the Gunmen an apology."

"Hey!" said Mulder. "This is a natural human function we're talking about here&#8230;basic biology."

"Not so basic," smirked Scully, carrying the orange juice pitcher to the table and filling their glasses. The three Gunmen walked into the kitchen. If the previous night had left them looking bad, this morning they looked as if they hadn't slept in a year.

"Oh, my head!" groaned Frohike. Scully reached inside her robe pocket, took out a medicine bottle, shook out two pills and set them in front of Frohike, all without breaking stride. "Thanks!" he croaked.

"Hey, can I have some?" asked Langly anxiously. "I have this huge headache too&#8230;" he put a hand to his temple to illustrate.

"You goldbricker!" Frohike said.

"No, that's OK, he can have some too," said Dr. Scully, dispensing a couple of white tablets to Langly, which he took and swallowed dry. 

"It's just Excedrin," she remarked. Langly choked and appeared to be attempting to cough up the pills. "Have a drink of juice, Langly&#8230;that's it," she said soothingly.

"If we're gonna be staying here, do we have to listen to these animals," he said, indicating Mulder and Krycek, "screw like weasels every single night?"

Frohike laughed through his hangover, and even Byers smiled.

Scully sat down. "Mulder. Look me in the eye. I know that you two want to express your love for one another, but you'll have to keep it down, OK?"

Krycek nodded, looking around, but Mulder appeared to reconsider. He put a finger in the air and said, "Uh&#8230;" but she hushed him with a finger to her lips. "I start work today, Mulder, and I just don't want to hear about it! Now, you and Krycek go and&#8230;play somewhere, OK? Shoo, shoo, shoo!"

"Um.. Can we have breakfast first?" Mulder asked mildly.

"This, Mulder, is a frying pan. This is a toaster; here are implements and mixing bowls. Here are eggs, ham, butter, bread. See what you can come up with on your own!"

Mulder looked at Krycek. "Alex?" he said weakly.

After Krycek had prepared breakfast for everyone, Sharon took her leave. "Meet me at my house, and you'll be in for a surprise!" she said mysteriously. "And, Lexy, Mulder - wear white if you've got it!" They looked at her, puzzled.

"You'll see!" she said, gaily, and waved to them, walking back to her red Mazda Miata.

Mulder cleaned up the dirty dishes while Krycek molested him. He licked Mulder's ear until he giggled, goosed him and ran a hand down his pants to his cock. The Lone Gunmen were huddled over something in the living room. "Go and see what they're looking at, will you?" he nudged his lover. Krycek sauntered off to the other room. "Hi, guys, what's up?" he asked casually. "Uh, nothing, Mr. Krycek," said Byers, covering something on his laptop screen with both hands. "I think it is something, Byers," he said. Byers punched a quick command into the laptop, and the picture vanished as the Internet connection was lost, but not before Krycek had seen what it was: a picture of Sharon Green, a heavy black border around it, and the words in a large font: Death to Sharon.

He stood there a moment, tapping a finger against his lips as three pairs of eyes met his resolutely. "I need the address of that website, fellas," he said softly. "Log on again and get it out of your favorites, or your cache."

"No," said Byers firmly. "I know that you're in espionage, and there is therefore even a greater reason why we must reserve this as private information. You can't be privy to it as of this time."

"There is no private information among members of this group," said Krycek. "We all need to pull together. So give me that website address. I can always do a search for it or even take the laptop right now and get it&#8230; can't we make this easier?"

Byers hugged the computer close to his chest. "No. Hands off, Mr. Krycek!"

Mulder approached, drying his hands. "Hey now, what's all this?" he asked. "Alex wants a web address? Just give it to him, guys!"

"We don't entirely trust him, yet, Mulder," explained Byers.

"After last night?" Mulder said in amazement. "I don't believe it! You guys really hurt me, you know that? I trust Alex with my life! You should too!"

"Well, let's just say, we've been having second thoughts."

Mulder sat down. "That's incredible! You guys ought to be ashamed of yourselves! Give him the website or whatever!"

Byers shifted his weight from one foot to another, then motioned Krycek to the couch. "This is a Left Hand Path site. Here is a picture of Ms. Green, identified on the site as "Sharon Gruen." The black border around the jpeg indicates death, and here is a date, supposed to be the one on which there will be a great showdown between the Left Hand Path-ers and the Wiccans. They, of course, predict that the Satanic forces will win. I believe that at this point, it is up for grabs. If they do win on that date, it will be a final victory and all humankind will be enslaved. The date, which is encrypted here, comes out to be January 13, 2001."

"Great! Finals week!" Mulder commented wryly, pulled out a small bag of sunflower seeds and chewed one thoughtfully.

Scully made a brief appearance in the living room, looking very professional with her leather attache case and charcoal pantsuit. "I have orientation today at the medical center," she said, "and after that David and I will be going out to eat, so you guys are on your own. My suggestion is to get Krycek to cook. He seems to know his way around a kitchen."

She turned and walked toward the door. "David? Dave, I'm leaving now," she shouted pointedly upstairs. White appeared on the steps in sockfeet, knotting a tie. "Oh, don't you look nice, honey!" he said appreciatively and came and kissed the top of her head. "My little Scully. Can I trust you not to talk to any bikers today?"

She snorted. "I was OK, Mister. You blew it by pulling your gun. Now neither one of us can go to their damned meetings!"

He looked heavenward. "And I'll miss it so much! Enjoy your day at the Health Center! I won't say 'break a leg'!"

She smiled and opened the door, heading for her Cabriolet.

White padded over to the group in the livingroom. "Whatcha got, guys?" he asked.

Byers cleared his throat and briefly explained the situation. White looked sharply at the website. "OK, we have one date. I want others; I want names, places, anything else you can dredge up."

"We tried emailing them," Langly answered, "last night. No response so far."

"Well, keep on it!" White said, clapping Langly on the shoulder. "I'm glad you found that website!"

"Mulder!" he said, in an aside to that man, "we need this whole thing checked out. That date could be a smokescreen, or it could really be the time that they figure this whole thing is gonna come down. Get Krycek to help you. He can go to one of their damned meetings, find out more."

Mulder nodded. "Consider it done, Boss," he said mildly, spitting a sunflower hull into the trash can.

"I talked to Skinner a couple of minutes ago," said White. "He isn't at all happy about the Krycek thing, but I talked him down&#8230;I think I made him understand that Krycek is an integral part of this investigation."

Mulder could well imagine Skinner steaming and blowing over Krycek, whom he hated worse than poison. "Um," he said.

"He won't put Krycek on the payroll, because that would make his affiliation official, and Skinner doesn't want that&#8230;but isn't Krycek sort of independently wealthy or something? Drives a Porsche, lives on a big spread&#8230;"

"Um." Said Mulder. "They're not precisely his, but yes, he doesn't really need to be paid for this. He will do it for love," he said seriously, looking White in the eye.

"Oh. Well. Anyway," White said, "Two other items of business. One is that Skinner has pulled me off the University campus and placed me in the Santa Cruz police department. Captain. He should have done this right from the start, if you want my opinion. The other thing is that another body has showed up. Scully knows about it, will put in a couple hours at the campus Student Health Center and then show up at the morgue with me. Could you and Krycek be there, oh, about 9 AM?"

Mulder nodded, chewing another seed.

"Don't bring the guys," White said, indicating the Lone Gunmen, "with you. No need for you to give them more nightmares than they've probably already got. And, oh, as Scully said she and I will be going out tonight, why don't you and Krycek rustle up a nice barbecue? There are steaks in the fridge."

Mulder nodded. "I got you loud and clear, Boss," he said solemnly, spitting a sunflower hull into his hand.

White looked at Krycek. "Got that, Krycek? All that OK with you?"

Krycek nodded. "It is."

*************************************************

At eight-thirty Bill Runningwater fielded another call. "Alex?" he asked.

"Why, no, this isn't Alex," came the voice with its unmistakable timbre.

"Oh. Sir, it's you!" he said lamely.

"Yes, it is I. Alex isn't there?"

"He isn't here," said Runningwater, speaking quickly. "He's at the grocery store down the hill."

"I'll try his cell phone."

"I don't think he has it with him," Runningwater lied.

"I think I'll try it anyway. If for some reason he doesn't answer, I am at this number:_____. It is a European number. Please let him know that it is very important that he call me. Soon."

"Yes, Sir, I will let him know."

"Goodbye!" and the connection was terminated. Bill stood staring stupidly at the phone, then punched in Alex's cell phone number. He got Krycek's voice mail. 

"Krycek. Leave a message," the voice said tersely. 

"Alex, the Old Man is looking for you and he sounds upset about something. I told him you were at the grocery store. "here's the number:____, and I think you'd better scramble, Alex. You know he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

He hung up with a sigh.

*************************************************

"So what's with this 'wear white' thing," asked Krycek curiously.

"I dunno, but I have an idea. Do you have anything white? Mulder asked. "I've got some things upstairs. We're basically the same size."

Rummaging through his closet and dresser, Mulder produced two pairs of white jeans, a white dress shirt and a good-quality white T-shirt, long-sleeved. "I guess I'll take the T-shirt, Mulder, and the slimmer pair of jeans&#8230;thanks!"

Krycek's cell phone rang just then, and he answered it. Mulder could see his face flushing and could guess who was on the other end of the line. Krycek turned toward the window. "Uh-huh," he said, "yeah, I'll take care of it. Yes, I understand, Sir. OK. Have a nice flight - miss you!"

He beeped the phone off and returned it to his pocket. "The Old Man," he said miserably. "I've got to come up with a plausible explanation of what I've been doing the past couple of days, leaving you and everyone else out of it."

Mulder looked at him thoughtfully, chewing a sunflower seed "How're you gonna do it?"

Krycek shrugged. "Either manufacture a bunch of lies, or tell him I've had a three-day hangover - aw hell, I dunno." He sat down on the bed. "Should we put on these white things now, or wait?"

"Wait, I think," said Mulder. "Let's do something else first! I had this idea -" he grinned evilly. He pulled a small, sharp implement out of his shirt pocket.

"What is that?" Krycek asked curiously.

"It's a seam ripper. I picked it up from the table. Might be Scully's, although I never hear of her sewing or anything like that. We're going to rip out the back seam of our jeans."

Krycek laughed. "And for what reason?"

Mulder said, "To make it easier," and his eyes gleamed.

*************************************************

At 10 AM, they decided to take Krycek's car to the Garden Mall. Both were wearing ripped-seam jeans, with jackets long enough to cover their butts. They walked past Bookshop Santa Cruz, where Krycek picked up an Advocate. "Nice to be out," Mulder commented. Krycek shrugged. "You're out among your friends. That's what counts." They walked past the Harlequin, an expensive little boutique. "Think I'll duck in here," Krycek said, and Mulder followed. Krycek went quickly through the men's-shirts racks and pulled out an emerald-green silk poet's shirt. 

"That's beautiful!" Mulder commented. "It'll really bring out your eye color."

"You're right," said Krycek. "I'll get it. Do you want anything, Mulder? You can have anything you want."

Mulder shook his head. "Are you made of money or something, Alex?"

Krycek shook his head. "I don't really want for anything. Especially since I've got you, Mulder."

Mulder smiled. "You're a one!" he said.

They walked past the Heavenly Goose/Swan restaurant. "this'll be a good place to eat lunch."

"Maybe for dessert. I want the main course, Alex."

"OK, into this alley..." Krycek sidled up to Mulder. "Hey Mulder, I'll fuck you first. Up against the wall. Now, the deal is, not to come when I fuck you, because you're gonna turn around and fuck me!"

Mulder leaned against the cool, rough wall, laying his face against it. He was very aroused, and when he heard the sound of Krycek's zipper opening, it was all he could do to stand still. He felt Krycek reach inside the back of his jeans. Neither one had worn underwear, in order to facilitate the process. He felt a lube-slicked finger probing his ass then sliding inside him past the tight ring of muscle. He gasped and twisted partway around. "Fuck me, Alex! Do it now!" he said.

Krycek smiled and stuck a second lubed finger in his ass. "Oh!" gasped Mulder. Krycek pulled out his fingers, lubed his cock and shoved himself into Mulder. "God!" Mulder cried. "Feels great, Alex! Fuck me, fuck me!"

Krycek thrust and pulled out with slight hip movements so that what they were doing would not be as obvious as it might be. This is really erotic, he thought, and then he came deep into Mulder's heat, biting his lip to keep from crying out. "Your turn!" he said huskily, and pulled out.

"um," said Mulder, and pushed himself off from the wall, quickly changing places with Krycek. "One finger," he intoned, pushing a digit into Krycek. "Two," he said, then "three!" Krycek groaned. "Don't prolong it!" Krycek cried. "Fuck me! Now!"

Mulder chuckled, unzipped and pulled out his cock, then pushed it firmly in.

Krycek's eyes rolled back in his head. "Ah!" he said inarticulately. "Like that, Mulder!"

Mulder imitated the slight hip movements Krycek had used. It did make things go more slowly. Only a few feet away on the sidewalk, passers-by were largely oblivious. One small girl paused and nudged her mother. "Mommy, what are those two men do-" she began, then her mother's hand descended on her mouth. "Just street people, honey," she said. "Don't pay them any attention. It's what they want!"

Mulder couldn't help it. He giggled, and as he giggled, he came, and he came so much that he spilled down Krycek's ass. "Damn!" he said, then withdrew.

The two men stood in each other's arms for a long moment. "That was fabulous," noted Krycek. 

"Mm-mm," agreed Mulder, his lips brushing Krycek's soft spiky dark hair. "Alex," he began.

"Yes?"

"I could kiss you till I died," he said fervently, kissing Krycek's soft cupid bow lips. 

"YOU could? I could, too!" said Alex Krycek.

"What? Kiss yourself till you died?"

"Smartass! You know what I meant! I could kiss YOU till I died, Fox Mulder!"

They pulled their jackets down and leaned against the wall, side by side. "Times like this," Mulder remarked, "Make me wish I smoked."

Krycek dug in a jacket pocket and held out a partially-smoked pack of Morleys to Mulder. Mulder scowled. "He's even in your pockets," he said bitterly. Krycek tossed the Morleys on the street.

"More like, I'm in HIS pockets, you know," he said blithely. "Look at that sky, Mulder. Almost looks like rain!.. Guess we should go back and get that barbecue started, huh?"

Mulder consulted his watch. It was still early. "Don't you feel you're jumping the gun a bit here?"

"No, I don't," said Krycek tensely, taking Mulder's hand and moving out onto Pacific. "We've got a lot to do today...Mulder, may I borrow your computer? I didn't bring my laptop."

Mulder turned toward him, fishing for his sunflower seeds. "Did I leave 'em back in that alley? Oh, no, here they are!" He popped one in his mouth and sucked on it contentedly. Krycek eyed him. "I've got something else you can suck on, Mulder," he said ingenuously.

"I'll bet you do!" retorted Mulder. "Well, after the barbecue, OK, dude?"

Krycek shook his head. "We've got that Sharon thing at 5 or 6."

"Is she picking us up?"

Krycek smirked. "Not unless you want to ride in my lap! The Miata doesn't have a back seat!"

They sauntered along the Mall. The Santa Cruz theatre was playing the Broken Hearts Club, and Mulder eyed this with interest. "Too bad we don't have time," he remarked, spitting a seed.

They arrived back at Steamer's at around 11:00. "Guys!" Mulder cried cheerfully! "Hey guys! We've come back to fix your lunch!"

There was no sound, nothing at all. "Isn't like them," Mulder remarked, "to turn down good food. Oh." He'd come to the refrigerator. Stuck under the magnets was a terse note: "Have gone to campus. Be back by noon. Gunmen."

Mulder tore the note up and swore.

"What's the matter, babe?" Krycek came up beside him and nuzzled his cheek. "Ah. Mm. The way I like my men. Nice and rough."

Mulder smiled. "The Gunmen have gone and gotten themselves into some kind of trouble, you can bet on it. Well, tell you what, we'll fire up the barbecue and cook some steaks...Like steak, Krycek?"

"Mm, yeah, and I like it really rare. Pink. Alive."

"Alex."

"Mm?" Krycek was sliding down till he knelt in front of Mulder, then he was unzipping Mulder and had him in his mouth. "Oh, God!" breathed Mulder.

"Oh, Alex! Oh, my God!" Mulder was surprised to find that he had become fully aroused at the touch of Krycek's slender fingers and his tongue.

Krycek licked up and down the shaft, sucked the tip of Mulder's cock head then swallowed the whole thing, the back of his throat massaging the tip while he worked on the rest with mouth and tongue.

"Alex, I'm gonna come again here, soon, OK?" Mulder gasped and then he did come in a loud groan, shooting hot liquid into Krycek's mouth.

Krycek got to his feet fluidly and kissed Mulder, hard. "Now to the barbecue!" He said, briskly. "Where're the steaks?" Mulder wordlessly indicated the refrigerator.

"OK. I'm gonna go ahead and start the coals, and if those guys show up late, they just get beans!" Mulder smiled. 

"You are too much!" he exclaimed. "I am so lucky to have you, Alex!" He caught Krycek on his way outside and held him fast. "You're mine and I'm never letting you go, OK?"

Krycek smiled. "The coals," he said, and walked out to the backyard. It was no big deal to mound up the charcoals in the Weber, spritz them liberally with lighter fluid then light them.

"I know, you have the soul of a pyro," Mulder exclaimed, watching from the door.

Half an hour later, the table was set, the beans were set in a pan to heat on the stove and the steaks were thrown on the hot coals. The Lone Gunmen came trooping back in. Byers looked happy, Frohike jubilant, and Langly was fairly cackling. "Well, what?" Mulder asked in irritation. They took seats around the kitchen table. Krycek hung by the back door, eyeballing his steaks.

"You guys have been by the University? I hope you weren't in the Computer Science lab!"

"Yes," said Byers, "we went to the Computer Science lab to test-drive their Cray. Supercomputer, Mulder."

"And?"

"And, we were able to decrypt a hunk of encrypted code we found on a Left-Hand-Path website, and find out where the Sharon showdown is supposed to happen."

"Oh, God, no kidding!" Mulder cried. "Where?"

They looked at him. "Back in that Forest of Nicene Marks place where you and Krycek had the visions, Mulder," Frohike said. "As near as we can figure it, the EXACT place."

"Steaks!" Called Krycek from the back yard. He brought in a sizzling platterful. "These are medium to medium-rare, boys. Who likes what?"

"Thought you liked rare. Raw," Mulder observed. Krycek smirked.

"I'd like medium-rare, please," said Byers. "Medium for me," said Frohike. Langly just shrugged. "If it's meat, I'll eat it!"

Krycek kicked Mulder's nudging foot, smiling. He went into the kitchen and fetched salad, bread and beans. 

The Lone Gunmen fell upon their dinners as if famished. "Hey, you guys just ate a few hours ago," remarked Mulder with amusement.

"Investigation is hungry work," remarked Frohike.

The phone rang, and Mulder went to answer it. "Mulder," he said.

"Mulder? This is Sharon Green. Just wanted to remind you, five o'clock. Your place. We'll take your car, Mulder, it has the most space. And wear white." She clicked off.

Mulder stared at the phone absently. 

"Who was that?" Asked Krycek.

"Oh, that was Sharon," he said, "just reminding us to wear white and all."

"Where are you going?" Asked Frohike.

"Um, we really don't know," answered Mulder. "You guys are done already? Want some more?" Langly did, so Krycek went to get him another steak.

"Alex, I can get the cleanup," Mulder said when he got back. "Just sticking these dishes in the dishwasher. You go up and use my computer to do whatever it was you needed to do."

Krycek nodded, wiped his hands on his apron and doused the coals. Up in Mulder's room, he seated himself at Mulder's computer and began to type a document in Word. "Report by Alex Krycek," it began, but it was a long moment before he could bring himself to type in the rest of it. "I have been observing the Scully/Mulder/White faction," he wrote, "and I find that they are at a standstill in their investigations." Boy, was he going to get whaled, he thought dolefully, if the Old Man ever found out he was lying. No, that was WHEN the Old Man found out. He set spies on his spies.

Mulder was up in a few minutes to take a look at what Krycek had written. He pursed his lips. "Not bad," he said, "but do you think the Old Man is gonna buy it?"

Krycek shook his head. "There's just no telling. In the long run, I would say, no. But it'll stall him for a while." Till he found out the truth. Then it would be back on the next Concorde, and he, Krycek, would get beaten to within an inch of his life. And the FBI's mission would be in very great danger. Hell, the world would be in very great danger.

"I'm gonna email it, as is," he said suddenly. "It'll just have to do. Then I've also got to FedEx it tomorrow to this address in France."

"Want me to do it? I know of a mailing place."

Krycek shrugged. "If you want, but the Old Man has an account with them, and they'll come to the house or wherever."

"DSL is SO nice," Krycek murmured, sending out the email with a few keystrokes. "Oh, God, I just blew it, big time!" he said suddenly, laying his forehead on the monitor.

"Why?" Mulder asked.

"Your email address -- he's just gotten your address, and he'll know I was here, doing this," Krycek said miserably. "I'm so stupid -- I'm slipping -- unless the return address was encrypted?" he asked Mulder hopefully.

Mulder nodded. "Oh, it is. Not to worry. Unless he's got an arsenal of Lone Gunmen at immediate hand, you've got absolutely nothing to worry about."

He's the richest man in the world, thought Krycek, and he can buy all the Lone Gunmen he wants. "He may call about the encryption," he said suddenly. He took out his cell phone and turned it on. Nothing, thank God. "It's 2 am or something there," he remarked, so I have somewhat of a reprieve."

"Are you taking that to Sharon's wingding?" asked Mulder, eyeing the cell phone. "Sure. Aren't you taking yours?"

At exactly 5 pm there came a knock on the door, and Sharon greeted them, wreathed in smiles. She was wearing a long white cotton dress, flounced, with cutwork and lace around all the hems. "You guys ready?" she asked.

"We're going out," called Mulder to the Gunmen, but they were too involved in whatever they were doing to answer.

Mulder got in the driver's seat of his car with Sharon in the navigator's seat and Krycek in back. "It's at Sunset Beach; get on 1 going south and take that exit," she instructed. "Hokay," said Mulder mildly.

They pulled up to the State Beach entrance. There was no one in evidence at the little ranger hut. "Drive on through," she said, and they drove down a grade to the beach parking lot. They looked around them. It seemed that 40 or so people had already preceded them, and they were lucky to find a parking space. People were thronging the barbecues, which were going full blast and which gave off the most delightful fragrances. Everyone was dressed in white, and many wore flowers. Sharon reached into her tote bag. "Here are flowers for you to give as offerings to the Goddess." She gave them each wreaths of mostly white flowers. "From my gardens," she said.

They got out of the car. "The Goddess?" asked Mulder. "Is this a Wiccan thing?"

"It is the Celebration of Yemanje, the Ocean and Mother Goddess. This is a festival of Candomble."

"And Candomble is...?" asked Krycek.

"Is a great religion of Brazil. It dates back to African religions."

"Is this like voodoo or something?" Mulder asked suspiciously.

"Well, Candomble is one of the three great religions to come out of Africa. Voodoo is one, as is Santeria. This is the one that is the beautiful, pacifistic religion. No animal sacrifices, I promise you!" she laughed.

They were approaching the barbecue. "God, I couldn't eat another thing after those steaks," Mulder remarked. "Nor I," said Krycek.

"Well, boys, I haven't eaten, and I am hungry!" Sharon said. "If you don't mind, I think I'll have some of those ribs!"

All the picnic tables being taken, they sat on the sand while Sharon ate ribs and a Brazilian rice-and-vegetable dish that was a concession to her health-food diet, and they drank beer.

"You have a terrific appetite, for such a skinny girl!" Krycek remarked. "Maybe you have a --"

Mulder shot him a warning glance. "Don't say it!" he said.

"Alex, can I tell Sharon about the computer problem? Maybe she can help us." 

Krycek nodded.

"Well, it seems that Alex forgot what he was doing and sent an email to the Old Man. That's C.G.B. Spender, Alex's employer, and, unfortunately, my biological father."

She nodded. "Oh yes, I know who he is. I am aware of him," she said softly. "And the email was sent from your home, Mulder, right?"

"Yes. And the return address is encrypted, so he can't see it...but he will become immediately suspicious and all our efforts could ultimately come to naught."

She drew her knees up to her chin and rocked, thinking. "I think I can help." she said finally. "I need your email address, and his, and Mulder's."

Krycek fished a slip of paper and stub of pencil out of his pants pocket and wrote them down for her.

"Good," she said. "I will meditate on this, and perhaps it may come to pass that he will see your home address on that email. Then everything will be all right." She drew herself up to a seated position and placed her hands in the prayer position, the paper between them. She closed her eyes for a long moment. Then she opened them and cleared her throat. "I think it is OK now," she said softly. "I think it has been fixed, Lexy. But never, never make such a slip again." she said, looking at him rather severely.

They heard the sound of many drums and looking down, they saw musicians gathered on the beach. "It is just about time for the dance," Sharon remarked.

"Dance?" Mulder squawked. "I can't dance! I have two left feet!"

The girl looked at him and laughed. "It isn't that kind of dance, Mulder! Come and see!" She turned and ran laughing down to the beach, picking up her skirts, her long bright hair streaming behind her.

Mulder and Krycek looked at one another. Krycek shrugged. "Come on!" he said, and led the way. Mulder proceeded at a walk. When he got to the dance "floor," he spotted a vendor selling beer, and bought two. One for courage, another for...oblivion?

Sharon was at first the only dancer. She moved gracefully to the drums, gyrating and whirling. She wore her flower "lei" around her neck so Krycek and Mulder followed suit. Krycek moved out to the floor to dance with Sharon, and it was a beautiful thing to see their "call and response" dance. Mulder was carried forward with the growing crowd and found himself dancing with a pretty black woman about his age. Then he was dancing with Krycek, and Krycek was doing a bump-and-grind against Mulder's hips in rhythm with the pounding drums; then he danced with Sharon, consummately graceful, her waist-length hair whirling around her, her hands up and eyes half-closed with the ecstasy of the dance.

There must have been hundreds of dancers, all moving to the drums, the drums. Mulder must have danced for hours. He didn't know or care. Gradually the afternoon darkened into evening, and the evening into night. Campfires and torches were lit. Then, suddenly, the drums rolled to a stop. A tall black man waved to get the attention of the crowd. "It is time for the offering of the flowers!"

Sharon muttered to Mulder, who was standing nearby, "we all go out to the waves and throw the flowers in. They also choose a woman to represent Yemanje. She is carried to the ocean and swims around in it. This is to ensure fertility and the bounty of the sea."

"I choose to represent the person of Yemanje most holy this young woman," he said, pointing at Sharon, "incomparably fair and lovely."

Sharon blushed, but it was now so dark no one could see it. The tall young man advanced smiling to her, bowed, took her hand and kissed it. Then she was lifted to his shoulders, and they advanced into the sea. The ocean became calm as they waded in. When the water reached the man's shoulders, Sharon let go and swam.

"It's warm!" She cried. "It's so warm! Everyone, swim!" People began slowly to advance into the waves, and suddenly everyone was in, splashing and swimming. The flowers were cast to drift upon the swells.

After half an hour she left the water, her soaked dress and long blonde locks clinging to her and making her look like the mermaid Yemanje. People were awestruck. "It is Yemanje, in person, come to us," one worshipper whispered to Krycek.

"No," said Sharon in a clear voice, "I am not she! Behold!" and she pointed to the horizon. There they saw a sight which would last in the annals of Candomble lore forever: the clouds, lit by the moon, in the shape of the Mermaid.

Sharon looked, and she saw a different vision: that of the Virgin Mary. "Mari, thou blessed mother! Queen of Heaven! Help me! Guide me!" she prayed fervently, streaming water upon the beach. "I have a hard road ahead. I pray not that it be taken away from me, but that I can travel it."

Krycek and Mulder, who had joined each other after the soiree in the ocean, looked upon her, and the vision, with awe. Krycek saw the Mermaid, but Mulder saw his own mother, and wept. Krycek put a hand on his shoulder. "It's OK, Mulder, it's OK," and then Mulder was in his embrace, sobbing. "My mother is d-dead!" he cried brokenly. Krycek patted his back and rocked him. His mother, too, had passed away and he felt Mulder's pain.

Sharon, having finished her prayer, patted Mulder solicitously. "It's OK, Mulder."

Mulder cried and cried and fell into a black hole of no remembrance.

When he came to, he was lying on the beach. His clothes were salt-encrusted and stuck to him, his fly was undone, and his cock stuck out in an erection. Krycek was leaning over him, watching him.

"What the fuck?" Mulder croaked. "Oh, my head! Fuck!" he said, putting a hand to his right temple.

"Hangover?" smirked Krycek.

"Yeah. What the fuck happened? Why am I here?"

"Well, we attended a festival of Yemanje, got drunk, danced all night, swam in the ocean. It was fun!"

"Fun? Fuck! And why do I have a hard-on?" he asked, eyeing Krycek.

"Just a morning erection, Mulder. I can make your headache better. I know just the ticket!"

"OK, then, do it, whatever it is!"

"OK." Krycek bent over Mulder's cock and sucked it as hard as he could, from root to tip. He pulled out his balls gently and licked and sucked them into his mouth, one at a time. He sucked and stroked his cock till Mulder came in Krycek's mouth.

"Darling," said Krycek thickly, and brushed Mulder's lips with his. "How's your headache now?"

"Better. Krycek, I just thought of something," Mulder said, staring at the sky.

"Yes?"

"We came in my car. Sharon had the keys. Sharon's not here. Ergo, Sharon left in my car, and we have no way back."

Krycek laughed. "Your logic is flawed because it is based on false assumptions. I have the keys, see?" he said, jingling them. "And Sharon left earlier, yes, but in someone else's car. Someone gave her a ride, Mulder."

Mulder lay back on the sand. "I have nothing to do today, Alex, how about you?"

Krycek scanned the horizon, as if seeking the answer there. "If ... If Sharon pulled off that trick with the email address, I have nothing to do...and I'm safe."

"Alex, why do you stay with him when he's so dangerous and he hurts you so much?"

"As I told you before, he owns me," said Krycek slowly. "He's got my number. He could put me in jail, or worse. I am his, Mulder."

Mulder propped himself up on his elbows. Damn, it seemed that headache had gotten better! It hadn't gone away entirely, but it had receded into the background of his consciousness. "But you are mine, too, Alex," he said softly.

Krycek leaned down and kissed him. "He owns my body. You own my soul, my spirit."

"Is he really my father, Alex?"

"As I understand it, yes. He gave you life, Mulder, whether or not you like it. Why do you think he hasn't had you killed? He loves you, in his way, and he is always protecting you, even while thwarting your efforts to get at the truth."

"Why didn't the Consortium disband when the aliens all went into another dimension?"

Krycek leaned back. "Because they are seeking the source of absolute power. That is why they are interested in this case. They seek the Devil."

Mulder was silent for a moment. "We have to stop them, then," he said slowly, "if we can."

Krycek nodded. "I'm hoping to stall them long enough to get past this...judgment day. Then their investigation will be nullified. Moot."

Mulder's cell phone rang. "Mulder," he said. Never mind that he was lying on a beach in drying stiff-as-a-board no-longer-white jeans with his dick hanging out, he had to answer the phone.

"Mulder, there's been another murder," Scully said, without preamble. "I'm doing the autopsy now. I want one of us to go in and investigate this Left Hand Path directly, and I want it to happen now."

Mulder sighed. "Yeah?" he said, unhelpfully.

"I think Krycek is our man," she said slowly. "There is a meeting this Thursday, according to the brochure. I want him to go in with a wire."

"Uh-huh. I'll tell him, Scully."

"Mulder, what is that noise? Are you at the beach?"

"Uh, maybe," he said. "Scully, you just carry on, and I'll tell Alex."

"OK. Now, you tell him to take care!"

"OK," he said, and punched "stop,"

"I heard most of that," remarked Krycek. "Yeah, I guess I'm elected to go. With a wire. Won't they check me out?"

"Not necessarily," Mulder yawned. "It's worth the risk, Alex."

"OK. And Mulder," he began.

"Yes?"

"This is a public beach. You might consider zipping up." He jerked his head in the direction of the parking lot, where an early-beachgoing family, chattering away, was beginning to make their way in the guys' direction.

Mulder sat up and yanked his zipper up as fast as he could. "Let's go," he said.

*************************************************

Fifteen older men sat in a large penthouse conference room at the Ritz Hotel in Paris. The room overlooked the Place Vendome and the street life of Paris, but they were too concerned with another matter to admire the sights. Each had a copy of Krycek's spurious report in his hands.

"Do you think this is accurate and true?" the man known to Mulder and Scully as the Well-Manicured Man asked. Krycek knew his true name but never used it. 

The Smoking Man, C.G.B. Spender, lit a Morley. "I trust Alex Krycek," he said, "Yet it does seem as though he would have uncovered something by now."

"Shall we set someone else on the case?" asked the heavy middle-aged man of Italian extraction. He had a high-pitched monotone which was at once grating and hypnotic. "Someone who can get something done?"

The Smoking Man stubbed out his cigarette. "What I will do is -- set someone else on Alex. Someone to look into what he's doing. Then if he checks out, we won't bother him further."

The First Elder said, "Why not remove him immediately from the matter, if there is any suspicion?"

The Smoking Man shot him a dirty look. "Because he is Alex Krycek, the best we have, and probably the best in the world."

The WMM shook his head. "My God, man! You're letting your johnson get in the way of really crucial decisions! Once, yes, he was the most dangerous spy in the world, but lately Alex Krycek is just a plaything, nothing more!"

The Smoking Man lit another Morley. "I take it you have a better idea? I'll call our operative in the area to keep an eye on him. If there are any problems at all, I'll pull him."

"Damn!" the WMM swore, under his breath. "He's probably messing around with Fox Mulder this very minute!"

The Smoking Man eyed him over a haze of smoke. "If he is, he won't do it again, I assure you," he said. "We'll have the house in Soquel watched, and the Mulder house. I'll put two people on it..."

*************************************************

After returning to the house at Steamer's, Mulder took off for the morgue to talk to Scully, and Krycek left for home. There he was welcomed by Bill Runningwater. "Alexei! How are you doing? You look like hell," he said, observing Krycek's bloodshot eyes, tousled hair and stiff, rumpled clothes. "Um," said Krycek, "I'm fine. We went to this beach party thing..." his voice trailed away as he went into the bedroom. Stripping off his clothes, he walked into the shower. "Do you have any of that special handmade herbal soap? The lavender one?" he called.

Runningwater approached and handed him a bar of soap, newly-cut from the "loaf" in the hall closet. "And the shampoo, please, Bill?" A hand appeared at the entrance to the shower, holding a bottle of Pikake shampoo from Body Time. "Thanks much!" Krycek lathered his thick, short hair briskly with his one hand. He poked his head outside the shower door. "And Bill --"

Runningwater rolled his eyes. "Yes?"

"Bring me a cup of coffee, please!"

"In the SHOWER?"

"Yeah. I have a headache."

"Thought you said you were fine!"

"Changed my mind."

Grumbling under his breath, the Navajo fetched the coffee.

"Thanks, Bill." Krycek walked out of the shower onto the tile floor to get it. He was nude and soapy from head to toe.

"You're naked, Alexei," Bill observed.

"Yeah, I know. Makes it easier to get clean, you know? Scratch my back, will you, Bill?"

Runningwater shook his head, but scratched Krycek's slick and soapy back.

Krycek took an entire hour in the shower. Good thing we don't have a water shortage going on. Unless we do now, Runningwater thought gloomily.

Krycek made an appearance in the livingroom wearing black jeans and the green poet's shirt which so beautifully complemented his eyes. 

"Fabulous!" commented the Indian. "You are such a sonnet for the eyes, Alexei."

Krycek grinned. "I've never heard that one before. I think I like it, though. Even without the arm?" he asked seriously.

"Even without the arm. In fact, it lends a certain piquancy, not to mention poignancy, to your appearance. Gives you the air of a desperado. Perhaps a James Dean kind of character -- but Alexei --"

"Hmm?"

"You are far better-looking than James Dean could ever dream of being."

Krycek smiled and plopped down on the Persian carpet in front of the stereo. "It's Sunday. How about Handel's Messiah for the occasion?"

"Got religion on me, boy?" Krycek shook his head, putting the CD in the player. "Naw. Just wanted to hear it, is all."

Runningwater took a sip of coffee. "Fielded another call from the Old Man for you, Alexei."

The first dramatic strains of Handel's greatest creation filled the room. Krycek twisted around to look at him, concerned. "What the hell did he want?"

"He just said he was interested in how you were doing, that's all. He got the report you emailed him."

"And?" Krycek asked nonchalantly, but he was quaking inside.

"He said it was fine, as far as it went, but that he wants a more in-depth investigation in the future."

"Did he put it like that?"

"Pretty much, yeah. But Alex--"

"Yeah?" There was fear, now, in Krycek's voice.

"Something in his tone...Alexei..." Bill pointed to Alex. "Watch your back, my friend! Watch your back!"

*************************************************

Sharon let herself into the Psych Department office at around 10 AM on Sunday morning with the skeleton key card that unlocked everything. The place was empty, deserted. Aronson's office was locked. On her desk was a little pile of Stuff To Do, including some interdepartmental memos, Elliot's Lotus Notes (he'd never quite gotten the hang of using the software), and one mangy-looking master's thesis with a yellow Post-It stuck to it: she was to edit it, print it out and give it back to Elliott. She sorted through the papers, determining which were most urgent: probably the memos. She created a file using a template and her nimble fingers flew over the keyboard. She'd once been clocked at 85 words per minute, not that she cared.

She was engrossed in her task and thus did not hear the door open and soft footfalls enter the room. 

"Sharon." came the voice right above her head, and she started. 

"Oh. Jason," she said flatly. "What are you doing here, and will you please leave." It was not a request but rather an order.

He laughed softly. She looked at him, levelly. "Leave. Now!"

He chuckled. "Your magic won't work against me, Oh High Priestess. Not any more."

"You are scum. Leave me!"

He walked around the desk to stand behind her, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sherry," he said softly, dropping down and just brushing his lips against her cheek, "Don't you know I love you?"

"I know no such thing!" She said tightly. "By all that is holy, remove your hand!"

He did, for a moment. Then he swooped in and crossed his arms over her chest, kissing her cheek again. "Sherry, don't you remember us? How good we used to be together?"

"'Used to be' and 'are' are two different predicates, Jason. "Get out!"

He answered by placing a hand under her chin and turning her unwilling face up to his. "Remember this?" he breathed, kissing her. She gasped. Against her will, her body, remembering him, remembering how good the sex had been, had begun to respond to his advances. His tongue explored the inside of her mouth; then he kissed her face, her throat and down to her breasts --

"No!" she cried, "Get thee behind me, Satan!" He stood up, laughed and stretched.

"Another time," he said. "There'll be plenty of time, Sherry, in the new world order. You shall be my bride again then, and I your groom. We'll reign over a land of peace and plenty, you the Empress, the Queen of Night, the only living woman who is fit to be my mate."

She stared at him, speechless. "I can't believe this," she began, "I can't believe you would propose to me, ME, such an infamous union under the Prince of Darkness! And you are a fool to believe he'd allow you to 'rule' anything -- he will devour you, Jason! For he is insatiable."

He stood off a way and stroked his mustache. "There is still time to change your mind, Sharon. For my Queen I want no other. You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known. And your powers would be a great gift!"

She stood up. "Mari! Morgana! Cernunnos! Danu! Hear me! Cause this man to leave me!" She pointed with trembling finger. "Go back to Hell, Jason!"

He paused, stood up straight, glanced to his left and then vanished. Just vanished. Sharon had been looking straight at him, and suddenly he simply was not there. "Gone to Perdition, I hope," she muttered. She sat down but found that her concentration was ruined and her hands shook too much to type. She put her forehead down on the cool desk. "Lord and Lady, what am I to do?" she mumbled.

*************************************************

Scully was bending over a corpse on a slab but she stood up when Mulder approached through the big double doors in the morgue. "Whatcha got?" he asked.

For answer, she tossed him a pair of rubber gloves. "Put these on. You'll need 'em," she instructed. He pulled them on with difficulty. "We've got a cause of death here, Mulder, which is different from the others. The markings are similar, though, which leads me to believe that it was caused by the same agent or agents. These marks," she said, indicating the now-familiar red welts, "spell out, in Hebrew again, 'Sharon is devoured.'" She looked up at him. "Not very nice, is it?"

"Hey, do you think this refers to Sharon Green, "our" Sharon?" Mulder asked.

She nodded. "I think so. It's easy to dismiss her as some kind of neo-hippie dippie ditz chick, but she seems to be working out to be some kind of significant player in all this."

"So how did this, uh, young man die?"

She pointed to a red mark on the middle of the body's forehead, spang between the eyes. "This is a burn mark. Very typical of electrocution of some kind, perhaps a lightning strike. But the interesting thing is -- I'm gonna need a hand turning this guy over, Mulder, thanks -- that the strike or whatever it was didn't enter the top of the head and leave by the feet. It went in at the forehead and left at the back of the head -- see, you can see the burning of the flesh and hair."

Mulder could see it, all right. "So whatever electrocuted this guy went right through his head."

She nodded. "Which is not impossible, perhaps, but singularly improbable. Because, see, Mulder, electricity seeks a ground, which is why you typically see burn marks on the feet, where the electricity goes out of the person and into the Earth. And see, there are none," she said, indicating the corpse's feet.

"Wow," said Mulder thoughtfully. "Someone's shot a bolt, like a lightning bolt, through this guys's head."

She nodded. "I haven't had a chance yet to dissect the brain, but I will. I imagine it's pretty damned cooked," she said. "You may take your gloves off, Mulder. That's all the hands-on stuff I'm gonna ask you to do."

"OK," he said, snapping off the gloves. "Hey -- that's kind of fun!" he remarked. "Taking off the gloves, Scully!" he added when she looked at him oddly.

"So is it all set up with Krycek, that he'll go to the Left Hand Path meeting?"

"Yeah, he heard our conversation. The wire, the works!"

"He must have really good hearing!" Scully remarked.

"Nope. Just average. You just have a very loud voice."

She scowled at him. "You go on, get out of here," she said, waving her hands at him. He smiled and started to go. "Oh, Mulder?"

"Yaz'm!"

"I think the role you've assumed, that of coordinator, is really working out well, and I just wanted you to know that I, White and Skinner are all pretty happy with you."

Mulder stopped in his tracks. "Skinner knows about Krycek?" he asked incredulously.

Scully cleared her throat. "Well, not exactly. Well, yes, he knows Krycek is working with us..."

"Good Christ! How can he possibly be happy with that? They are mortal enemies!"

"Well," said Scully, leaning back against the slab, "White talked to him about it. He talked to him for about an hour and a half, just talking him down. Eventually, he came to terms with the idea." She spread her hands. "But Mulder, he does NOT know that you and Krycek are still lovers, though he may guess this. You and he are NEVER to throw this in his face! OK?"

Mulder nodded, wishing for a sunflower seed. Damn, he did have a few in his shirt pocket. His hand stole to the pocket and extracted a seed. Scully's delicately-drawn brows rushed together. "Don't even think about eating that in my morgue!"

"Why?" Asked Mulder, popping the seed into his mouth anyway.

"Because it's improper, for one thing, and incredibly unsanitary, for another, that's why. Now out! Out!" She made pushing motions in his direction.

"OK, OK," he said laughing. "Are the dead watching?"

*************************************************

After they'd listened to Handel's Messiah, Bill went to prepare a pot of pinto bean soup and cornbread, and Krycek motored down to the "corner" market to get some supplies. Parking the black Porsche, he walked with the jaunty gait that comes from knowing one is loved. Extracting a cart from the row, he walked into the store. Let's see, lettuce -- good lettuce, no iceberg --organic tomatoes, carrots, radishes, scallions. Jicama. A little cabbage maybe. That should do it. In the checkout line, he became aware of a very handsome man his age or a little older, tall, thin, with blond buzz-cut curly hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Didn't want to jump him, particularly, just was aware of him. The man, who was idly paging through the magazines on the display rack, looked up and met his eyes in a blue-steel gaze that went through and through Krycek.

"Do I know you?" the man asked politely.

"Oh, sorry, no," Krycek apologized. "You must have reminded me of someone I know, something like that."

The man smiled. "Don't worry. I'm sure that happens all the time."

Krycek was puzzling over his answer when it came his turn to check out. He hurriedly tossed his veggies on the conveyor belt, not looking back at the man behind him, who had unnerved him rather badly. He paid for his purchases and carried his bag out to the Porsche. Settling himself in the driver's seat, damned if he didn't see the guy walk out of the store -- with nothing in his hands -- and get into his car, a Mustang of recent vintage.

Krycek's internal alarms all went off at once. "Shit!" he swore, although he knew that at this point anger was a luxury he could ill afford. He put the Porsche into gear and raced out onto Soquel Drive, then up Sequoia Grade. He looked anxiously in his mirrors. At first he could see nothing, then the Mustang hove into view. Damn! He thought. At least he could have chosen a less conspicuous car! Thinking quickly, he turned left at Pastoral View instead of Lamb Hill Road, then a quick right at some nameless intersection, then a left. Had he lost the guy? He searched the mirrors worriedly, straining his eyes for a long time. No, he could not see him. He decided to pull over and wait for half an hour. The minutes ticked by, and he saw nothing.

Krycek pulled his sunglasses out against the bright sun and drove home over a series of bumpy dirt roads, roaring down the driveway. He clicked the garage door opener, and Bill Runningwater appeared.

"I was worried about you," Runningwater said, his brow wrinkled. "What happened?"

"Aw nothing much. Ah, I think I've got a spook after me," he relented.

He passed the groceries to Bill. "Make a nice salad," he commented. "Um, there was this man at the Starlite Market down the hill," he gestured. "We had a few words, just hi, excuse me, stuff like that. Then he got right into his car and followed me up the hill."

The walked up the steps to the house. "He made me, Bill, I'm sure of it," he said, turning to Runningwater.

The Navajo looked at him, his chin in his hand. "Are you sure it wasn't just a coincidence? Maybe the guy lives up here."

Krycek shook his head. "He immediately put his groceries down, didn't buy them, to follow me, Bill. I've got a spook. Now the question is, whose?"

"You mean, from whom?" Runningwater asked, pulling the vegetables out of their bags and placing them on the kitchen counter. "That's easy: either the Government or the Consortium."

Krycek laughed. "The Consortium, put a spy on a spy?"

"Sure, why not? If they didn't like your report. Or if, Alexei, they found out about your liaisons with Fox Mulder."

"Or if," Krycek said thoughtfully, "they suspected it but could not confirm it otherwise. Well!" he said. "If that bastard shows up at the house, I'll plug him through and through, and that's that!"

"Well, let's hope he doesn't, then."

*************************************************

Fielding had parked his car off the street, hidden by brush, and had crawled several blocks through brush and had endured the indignity of the horse pasture to get to Krycek's home. There goes my shirt, he thought. And my pants. But I'm here now. 

He crawled on all fours into position, hiding behind a live oak tree. Then he trained his high-powered binoculars on the house. He could see Krycek and that other fellow, Runningwater, appear and disappear in the kitchen window like shadow puppets. He had a sound amplifier, but for some reason it didn't work. Maybe the Old Man had had a block put in. Huh. Hoisted by his own petard. Well, he could read lips rather well, so maybe he didn't need the enhanced experience provided by the audio.

Fielding was 38, and he'd been an operative since the age of 22, when he had graduated from the University of Michigan and had been recruited by the FBI. After a ten-year stint he'd worked for various governments abroad, and had only lately come to the attention of the Consortium. They'd chosen well, as he was the best. Better than that Krycek, who was sloppy. Krycek let his dick do his thinking, and that was a problem. If he was successful and could expose the other spy, and he was sure that he would be, he, Fielding, would become the Consortium's prized spook. Krycek was but a pretty toy.

Fielding watched for a while. He was sure that he read the word "Mulder" on Krycek's lips. So. He WAS shtupping that FBI fellow.

After about an hour of observation, Fielding slithered back to his Mustang. He was going to change the car in the morning, as it was way too conspicuous.

*************************************************

After visiting Scully in the morgue, Mulder decided to call it a day and drove to the beach, eschewing the state beaches for a free one, rolling up his pants legs and wading in the ocean. Sometimes just the feel of the cold water and the sight of the ebb and flow of the waves soothed him. He couldn't turn off his brain, however. 

Viewing the corpse on the slab had reminded Mulder that they were up against something really terrible, a force they had not reckoned with at first. Mulder wondered whether they had the resources to battle it. Could Sharon Green, with her strange and wondrous powers, be that resource? He didn't know.

He looked at the horizon, noting a big strange-looking ship. He looked above at the screaking seagulls, and down at the pliant sand. It behaved like a mixture of quicksand and modeling clay, and it felt good against his toes.

Wonder what Alex is doing. I want to squish in the sand. I need to take a shower. The shower won out, and with a sigh Mulder walked back to his Taurus.

Driving back, he never noticed the tan Cavalier following him.

While showering he (of course!) got a call on his cell phone. Cursing, he walked out of the shower, dripping water all over the carpet, and punched "start." The shower water continued to run.

"Mulder," he said, tersely. "Oh, Alex! Oh, hi! Whatcha know?" his tone became intimate, sweet. "Baby, I..You what? You've got someone tailing you? Oh great! And now you think there might be a tail on me? Why? Oh...oh. OK, Alex, I'll keep an eye out! What...dinner tonight? That would be lovely. Thing is, I have to rustle up something for the Lone Gunmen. Oh...Kentucky Fried Chicken? I guess that would be OK. OK, see you at seven. Bye!"

He punched "stop." and tossed the phone on the bed, resuming his shower. Alex...his Alex. He would see him soon, again. Mulder turned off the water and headed for his clothes. Jeans with an olive-colored T-shirt. That would look good, and would bring out the greeny-blue-gray in his hazel eyes. He couldn't dress too carefully for Alex, who was always elegant no matter what he wore.

Mulder made a quick "chicken run" and put the food in the refrigerator, with a note stuck under the cat magnet, for the Lone Gunmen. They could always warm the stuff up in the microwave.

This time, when he headed out to the Taurus, he was careful to look up and down the street and then to check his mirrors from time to time. Nothing...nothing...and then, driving up Mission, he spotted it: a tan Chevy Cavalier which was being careful not to leave more than a car's space between them, all the way up Mission to Highway 1. His hands tensed on the steering wheel. Then he lost the car, and he relaxed his grip. Probably nothing more than some dumb-ass driver who didn't know about spacing.

Still, he drove carefully up to Krycek's house. When he came to the top of the driveway on Lamb Hill Road, the third garage door opened and Krycek motioned him in. "Can't be too careful!" he exclaimed, "I'm being watched!" He waved Mulder inside.

"Welcome, welcome!" cried Bill Runningwater, wiping his hands on a dishtowel and coming forward to greet Mulder. Mulder hugged him. "I'm so glad to know that you're here," he said, "taking care of Alex!"

Bill laughed. "Alex does a pretty good job of taking care of himself," he said.

Krycek shook his head. "Not lately."

"I don't like this spy stuff at all," remarked Mulder. "I was tailed part of the way up here."

"Were you?" asked Krycek. "My God, they must have two men on us." He rubbed his chin. "I'm going to have to change cars, and maybe you should, too, Mulder."

"Why?" Asked Mulder, chewing on a radish. "They've already made us. They're watching us get into the cars. Won't matter what we drive."

"True, true," said Krycek distractedly. "I'm still gonna drive the Mercedes."

"Leaving me with the Porsche? To get shot at? Thanks a lot!" Runningwater commented, stirring the pinto bean soup.

"Naw, I'll drive you down to the beach house and you can have the Jaguar. Or to the Capitola house, and you can have the 'Vette, or to Boulder Creek and you can have the Ferrari. Your choice!"

The Navajo just shook his head, concentrating on adding dried chili to the soup.

"Don't make that soup too hot," cautioned Krycek. "Mulder might not be able to handle it."

"I think Mulder can handle a little chili pepper," said he, amused. "I like my food the way I like my men -- spicy!" 

Krycek grinned. "C'mere!" he grabbed Mulder and kissed him.

"Please, no icky sticky stuff in my kitchen!" said Runningwater. "Take that to the bedroom," and he pointed.

"Is there time?" asked Krycek.

"Yeah, sure. This soup needs to cook at least another hour. Go on!" He pointed again.

Krycek and Mulder were in each others' arms again before they reached the bedroom. "Hey, Krycek?"

"Yeah?"

"I owe you one, buddy. Get in there and lie flat on the bed. I'm gonna pleasure you till you'll think you're gonna die. Don't get me wrong, those clothes are beautiful, but I want 'em off. Now!"

Krycek obeyed. Mulder stripped off jeans and shirt and came crawling along the bed. He took the erect Krycek in his mouth, causing the other man to gasp and moan. "Ah...lisitsa! That feels good!"

"Does it?" Mulder whispered. "How about this?" His tongue roved up and down the insides of Krycek's oh-so-delectable thighs, around the perineum, then, teasingly, he rimmed Krycek.

"Oh, Mulder!" breathed Krycek. "Suck me!"

In answer Mulder lipped the tip of Krycek's cock then licked down the shaft. He licked his balls and sucked each one into his mouth. Krycek was by now twisting and writhing.

"Ah...hold still, Alex!" Mulder put out a hand to restrain Krycek. "Just relax!"

He took Krycek in one big gulp, throat rubbing the tip of the younger man's cock, lips and mouth doing the rest. Mulder sucked and sucked and Krycek tensed and then he came, screaming raggedly.

Mulder lay back on the bed by Krycek's side. The other man's breaths were coming very fast. "That was fuckin' great!" Krycek exclaimed.

Mulder grinned. "Yes, it was! We'll do it again after dinner."

"You got my vote!"

Hand in hand, they migrated to the kitchen, where delicious smells were beginning to be generated. Runningwater straightened. "Huh!" he said, "thought that was the cat, but I'd already let him in!" 

They grinned. "Smells good, Bill," Mulder remarked.

"This guy," Krycek said, "is an amazing cook, Mulder! He takes humble ingredients and makes them into...ambrosia," he said, lifting the lid off the soup pot and risking a taste. "Ow, hot!" he exclaimed. "But really good, Bill!" he gave Runningwater the thumbs-up.

"Bring any music with you, Mulder?" Krycek asked, drifting into the living room.

"Just this Jeff Buckley tape."

"Oh, God, not that again." Krycek made a face. "Sounds like a banshee. A tortured rat. But yes," he said, "you can play it. Pop it in!" and he winked.

They listened for a while. "This is the one I like," remarked Mulder.

Krycek consulted the jewel case. "Track ten. 'Dream Brother'?"

*************************************************

Fielding's Ford was parked in the shadows off Sequoia Grade, but she found it no problem to locate him. She parked her Cavalier on the other side of the road and swung her long legs out. She was tall, Hispanic, elegant. She approached him. "Morgoth?" She asked. He nodded, slightly. "Evita?" 

"Yes. Did you get the message I left on your cell?"

He nodded again. "I did, and I left you one."

"I've tailed Mulder to there," she indicated up the grade.

"Yes. Good work. I think there is no doubt about his relationship to the subject."

"Shall we move in, take some pictures?"

"I think that's a good idea. You are armed?"

She patted her hip.

"He's alleged to be very dangerous. That's why I've got this," he said, indicating his high-powered 'scope rifle.

"Yes. I've got one in the car. Should I take it with me?"

"No need. Just be cautious, that's all."

"How do we approach the subjects?"

"On foot. Through the pasture. Watch out for the horses and keep low!"

During their transit of the pastures, one of the horses neighed shrilly. They flattened themselves against the ground, but the horse did not approach.

They crept to the house. For a moment they saw Fox Mulder and Alex Krycek in the kitchen window, embracing. Fielding drew out his camera and began clicking. When Mulder and Krycek were no longer visible, Fielding motioned the woman toward the back of the house. "Glass doors!" he hissed. She followed him, treading ever-so-softly around the house, till they were able to approach the doors, at a distance of about 100 feet.

Fielding looked through his scope. He had Krycek in his sights. "Too bad this isn't a termination," he said. "I could pick him off right now!" 

"Um-hum," Evita said. Her real name was Carmen Martinez, but that was not relevant to this mission. She used high-powered binoculars to follow Krycek and Mulder from room to room. 

"Look, they're kissing!" Fielding hissed. They both pulled up their cameras and began taking pictures. "The Old Man is gonna love this!"

"Have you made a report to him yet?" asked Martinez.

He shook his head. "No. I was hoping to gather more evidence."

"This looks like evidence."

"It does. I'll have this film developed and sent to him."

"We ought to get videotape of them screwing," said Martinez thoughtfully, scratching her chin.

"I'm gonna try for that tonight."

*************************************************

In the house, Bill Runningwater suddenly looked up from his soup, bothered by a change in his environment. What?...there it was again, a small, furtive movement in the brush. Deer?

"Alexei!" He called. "Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"We're being watched. I can feel it."

"Yeah?" Krycek breathed, looking out the window. "I don't see anything."

"But I did."

"What was it?"

"Just a little motion, a little movement in the bushes."

"Hmm," said Krycek thoughtfully, "you know, maybe you're right. I'll re-implement the security system. We've been remiss."

He punched in various codes, programming the security system. "See, Mulder, this screen," he said, taking him into the master bedroom, "shows what the radar sees. And...the radar sees two little blips! God, why didn't I do this sooner!"

"Where are they?" Mulder asked quietly.

"They're about 100 feet away, out that way," he said, pointing out the double glass doors.

"What should we do? Should we call the police?"

From Krycek there issued a sound between a chortle and a snort. "The police? The police? Are you crazy, Mulder? Remember? The police and I have an understanding: I don't bother them, and they don't bother me!"

"But White's a Santa Cruz police detective now. He could help you."

Krycek shook his head. "No. I'll handle this myself." He walked to a back bedroom and took from a large gun rack a Kalashnikov. "They've got handguns and maybe rifles with scopes," he remarked, "but neither is much defense against this!"

"No." Mulder said. "No bloodshed, Krycek."

Krycek turned to him. "You can either stay tonight, then you'd be a witness to this, or you can go home now and leave this up to me!"

Mulder shook his head. "No. No, Alex."

"It's going to be taken care of, one way or another," Krycek said, fitting a magazine into the Kalashnikov. "You'll need to leave before nightfall, Mulder."

*************************************************

The Lone Gunmen wandered into the house at Steamer's after another sojourn at the University, and they were hungry. They found the note, and they found the chicken.

"These guys are pretty good to us," said Frohike, chewing on a wing.

"No shit!" agreed Langly.

"Pass the cole slaw, please, Langly," said Byers.

"This stuff is even good cold!" exclaimed Langly.

"You're wearing your drumstick, Langly," said Frohike.

"Oh...yeah."

"It's good to see you eating protein these days instead of just carbos," remarked Byers.

"Thank you," said Langly, around a mouthful of mashed potatoes.

"Gross!" said Frohike.

"So, guys, did we learn anything at all today?" asked Byers.

"We learned that the computer was down today," said Frohike mournfully. "No de-encryption!"

"We learned that the University is full of babes!" offered Langly.

"We learned that this Jason is a major player," said Byers softly. "We'd thought of him as a spooky sideline...Sharon said he wants her to join him, to side with the forces of evil...This stuff just gets scarier and scarier, guys. I need to ask you: do you want to stay with it? Do you want to go the distance?"

They looked at each other. "Yes," Frohike said finally. "One for all, and all for one, remember?"

"One for all, and all for one," Langly said, gulping his Coke.

"One for all, and all for one," offered Byers. "We go into this with our eyes open, together."

*************************************************

Scully met White for dinner at the Swan. She didn't have to go very far to meet him, as he worked right next door to the morgue. The dinner was fabulous. They had garlic pork, szechuan prawns and pot stickers.

"This is good," Scully remarked, chewing delicately on a pot sticker.

"Yeah." White agreed.

"Did you have a chance to see that body?" she asked.

"Yes, I was there before you were. That electrocution mark is pretty strange, eh?"

"What's strange about it is the other mark. The bolt of lightning, or whatever it was, went right through his head. I examined the brain, and it's cooked, as expected."

"No grounding. Rice, please. Thank you," he said, spooning rice onto his plate.

"Yes. You got it, David!"

"So there's a monster that throws bolts of electricity."

"Yes," she said slowly, "that's about what it is."

*************************************************

  
Archived: April 22, 2001 


End file.
